when no praise can find your lips

___

Another day

Filtered thru tears

Cause the broken hope

Has become the fear

Shoulders low

From sorrowed days

You cry an empty prayer

From a borrowed faith

Autumn's gone

& Winter's here

Just know my love

That spring is near

___

Do you have a song that you consistently return to?

Your "favorite song"?

The one you're sure speaks to you on a far greater level than to anyone else who happens to hear it?

Anyone else who claims it as their "favorite song" surely is mistaken, misunderstanding the song's true depth and significance...

Maybe you go as far as to call it "your song" (not Your Song by Elton, though that one is as well, magical)?

For the last few years, the song "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and the Heart has been that song for me. 

Lyrics such as 

"A year from now we'll all be gone

All our friends will move away"

or

"Nothing is as it has been

And I'll miss your face like hell"

or how about this one,

"If you don't know what to make of this

Then we will not relate"

cash money.

"Rivers and roads 'till I reach you."

___

A few days ago TJ Stafford released three new albums with his newish band, The Rigs:

White

Gray

and

Black.

Go listen to them. All of them. So much heart.

___

I was talkin' through my stresses with PJP the other day when I realized that I'm all talk and no joy.

I believe in joy, I really do. But, at the moment, my faith is pretty dang joyless.

What does it take to get back to a passionate faith?

Have I fallen out of it? Is that possible?

We talked about how Western theology has developed a faith that sort of reflects a mattress.

We have it, but we don't find true rest in it because we are afraid of rolling out and off during our sleep.

Like that's even possible... becoming cozy in your faith and rolling out of it while sleeping.

Would God really let that happen? Is that what's happening to me? Did I roll off the mattress onto the hard, cold floor without realizing it?

We contrasted that with a faith that reflects hammock rest.

You get it, you curl up in it and you find true rest because you can't fall out.

I'm not talkin' those lame Home Depot hammocks that have a pole contraption so you can stick 'em in your lawn; I'm talkin gnarly, cocooning hammocks you tie up between trees.

You can get such solid rest in those because they hold you,

they beg you to come over and rest, restore your spirit and then wake ready to take on life in a full and overflowingly Jesusy manner.

They hold you so tightly that while you rest, you can thrash around, cry, scream, curl up in a little ball, question and freak out while still being wrapped up, surrounded by the comfort and consistency of the hammock's embracing fabric. You are held.

Recently my prayer has been a meditation on Psalm 51:12,

"Restore to me the joy of your salvation"

Remind me. Show me. Hold me. Warm me. Winter frickin' sucks.

___

When the night

Has swallowed hope

Rest assured the sun

Is soon to show

Someday soon

The pain will cease

And the sun will rise

On the darkness seen

Take my hand

& walk with me

Cause I met this man

From Galilee

The burden's hard

& the pain is deep

But the blood is strong enough

To set you free

When the cold 

Chills the bone

Know that heaven's near

To hold you close

("Autumn" by The Rigs on their album, Gray)

___

"Restore to me the joy of your salvation"

As I'm working through the grieving process, I often throw my hands in the air and say "I'm done!", I'm over it, grief will no longer define me, I am fine.

I remember when I came back to the States from Botswana having a conversation with my Uncle Eric regarding reverse culture shock.

I left Bots and 45 minutes later was in JoBerg, SA.

After a brief layover there, I flew 18 hours and stepped off of the plane into the heart of New York City.

I then took the subway to Manhattan to hang out with a friend for a few hours, exploring the city and all of its "wonders". 

I remember her showing me this beautiful hotel. The outside was stunning and the inside was so bright! It was lined with golds, silvers, shiny light fixtures, marble staircases, elegant piano music...

I couldn't handle it.

New York City was too much.

My uncle asked me, "Sometimes don't you wish we still traveled by boat?"

Could you imagine, that 18 hour transition time being spread over a few months; all that time to process change and enter into a new life with a new you?

Wonderful.

But then, given the opportunity, don't you think that all of those people who crossed the Atlantic on boat would have given anything to be able to do it by plane?

Those months of staring at the sea, seeing nothing but blue ocean and blue sky? Facing storms that surely seemed like they would be the end, and for many, were? Living in filth and sickness? Rationing food and water? Arrival to your destination not being certain?

I'm sure just about every one of them, at one point or another, wanted to jump ship.

I'm making a conscious choice to take the boat through my grief.

Every time I say that I'm done, I'm fine, I'm over it... I'm not really. I'm just sick of rationing my water and facing storms.

I'm choosing the boat because the boat is healthy. 

PJP and I have talked substantially about defining the bottom of grief. 

Ya know, when you jumped in the pool as the kid and started to sink to the bottom... your ears would begin to pop and you thought that surely you couldn't handle it anymore, but at that moment your feet touched the bottom and you pushed back up to the surface?

That breath, that life above water, that's waiting at the shore.

This trip across the Atlantic will end, and when it does I will have pushed myself towards the surface, I will have had my joy restored and it will be rooted in His salvation. 

___

Jeremiah 31 has been a great comfort to me,

It speaks of restoring Israel to it's intended glory, reclaiming it, re-membering it.

Jeremiah 31:2 says

"Those who survive the sword will find favor in the wilderness."

This promise, this word of encouragement is wrapped up in all kinds of ick.

Yeah Israel, you're going to survive the sword. Hell yeah, you'll survive!

Then, guess what, you'll find favor!

...in the wilderness.

This is a process.

I'm surviving the sword and I will find favor; may I find joy in that favor.

This life, may it be more than survived, may it be lived.

___

When no praise 

Can find your lips

Let the One who knows

Lend you His

When you wake 

& the silence breaks

Hear the melody 

Of the angels sing

___

Autumn's gone

& Winter's here

Just know my love

That spring is near

father time, john the baptist, double helixes, and my dear gram anne

Time is interesting

and often confusing.

Feeling is beautiful

and often painful.

.

A date passes, an anniversary of a new beginning, a marker of a blissful memory.

This is a beautiful thing.

A date passes, an anniversary of an ending, a marker of a tragedy, an aching memory.

This is a painful thing.

I am incredibly blessed to be in relationship with Pastor Judy Peterson.

We kick it usually three times a week and have the opportunity to pour into each others lives and walk together through the good, the bad, the ugly...

the dark and twisty, the bouncy and giggly, the honest and difficult, the simple and joyful.

Life, as it is. 

Lately we have spoken a great deal regarding loss.

What does it mean to lose?

What does it mean to mourn?

How do we mourn? Alone? Together?

How can we identify what we're truly mourning and then care for it appropriately?

What does it look like to live amidst tragedy rather than to merely survive it?

She often refers to time as a double helix, much like DNA.



Along the edges of the helix passes your life, and the view you possess of your life.
This is time.
Or rather, this is our understanding, our perception of time.

As you twist and turn, twirl and spiral onward and upward you meet people, you build relationships, you trust, you love, you succeed, you inspire, you are inspired, you laugh, you smile, you do silly shenanigans and you create beautiful memories filled with joy, peace and warm, fuzzy feelings.

As you twist and turn, twirl and spiral onward and upward you meet people, you loose people, you break relationships, your heart is ripped to shreds, you lose life, you fail, you lose inspiration and motivation, you mourn, you cry, you leave comfort, you loose comfort and you create painful memories filled with hurt, ache, and cold, bitter feelings.

Thankfully, due to the design of the helix, we are not in view of all of this all of the time.
But as we pass certain points, we can look down and see perfectly the connections.
The feelings, we've felt them before, but when?

When I smell jasmine flowers an incredible thing happens.
As the sweet, calm fragrance is inhaled it fills every corner of my body and my soul.
I feel the stems spreading through my veins, the branches shooting out along my skin, the leaves springing to life, bursting into color and finally the tiny white flowers bursting into full bloom as they shine light throughout my body and fill me with a reminiscent joy that relates me to my childhood home in Ventura, my mother's perfume, the walk to my grandparent's home and the unique and fanciful vision that only a child understands.

The smell of jasmine flowers aligns all of these memories,
and I smile.

At this season in my life, this corner of the helix, events of death and loss are heavily present.

Moments of despair, pain and great hurt are in full view.

This week was a week of throbbing remembrance. 

This pain that once was acute, now lingers as a constant, a thud.
thud.
thud.

October 14, 2014 marks the death of my wonderful grandmother, Anne.
That day pierced my soul and sent shocking pain through every particle of my being.
It rocked me thoroughly and continues to linger as a pain without felt remedy.

This date passes and in full view is the loss of a brother, the loss of love and relationship, the loss of homes and comfort, the loss of friends and community, the loss of being known, the loss of reliance on what thought to be true, the loss of childlike trust and optimism, the loss of motivation, the loss of family who I thought would be forever, the loss of loved ones to the world beyond and the loss of any certainty or solid ground.



One of my wonderful mentors, Jessica, asked me a pensive question the other day.
She said, "If you could pick one character, metaphor, story, verse, theme, etc. from the Bible that you think mirrors your personal faith story, who or what do you think it would be?"

I had to take that one home with me.
So many options to review!

After a few days of scatterbrained thinking I decided that James' story is a close reflection to my own.
(We can unpack that more at a later time.)

A few days later, I was walking home a sweaty mess from the gym when I realized how miserable I was. I was tired, disgusting, had heaps of homework waiting for me at the apartment, was ticked off at God, catching a cold, bogged down with work stuff, mourning the loss of the above mentioned list, and generally super unhappy with where I was and what I was doing when I heard the voice of God.

This voice, though not audible, convicted me profoundly.
With the question Jessica has posed to me still lingering, I said out loud (like a semi-crazy person) as I was walking "I wish my faith story mirrored that of John the Baptist."

I don't really.
I mean, his life...
He wore camel skins, ate locus and wandered around in the desert.
Granite, he got to baptize Jesus, which is cool.
But still.
He wandered around wearing what I can only imagine would be super itchy clothing, ate frickin' bugs and lived in the ridiculously hot with sand surely in nasty places.
He spent his whole life serving God and in the end got beheaded in a dungeon with no recognition.

But really, I do want my faith story to mirror his.
I mean, his life...
He wore camel skins, ate locus and wandered around in the desert and was beheaded in a dungeon all the while proclaiming boldly the name of Christ.

His life was anything but ideal and yet he lived it so incredibly committed to the Lord that none of the terrible mattered.
He confidently sang of the coming of Christ while living in conditions that nobody in their right mind finds joy in.

I guess this is the "peace that passes all understanding" of which Paul writes to the Philippians.
It just doesn't make sense.
But it's God.

"peace that passes all understanding"
the peace that allowed John the Baptist to proclaim the goodness and the coming of Christ while eating bugs, wearing itchy terribleness and sleeping in the sand.

I wish that my faith mirrored that of John the Baptist, "restore to me the joy of your salvation."

This week I have spent remembering.
Gram Anne was the most incredible story teller. She actually recorded herself reading fairy tales for my sister and I when we were smaller so that we could snuggle up and dream together. She made me a beautiful quilt that keeps me warm every night. We exchanged letters consistently until she became too tired to write; she would always sign them "MMM", Mad Madam Mim. We would imagine together, reality had no need to be reality.



In all of these ways, she is still with me.
Dreaming, creating, imagining and inspiring are not only of this world.
For every point of sadness on the helix of my life, for every corner I turn which begs the mourning of Gram Anne, there is a point right around the bend, a memory of great beauty and power that brings me to a point of imagination and with every dream,
every creation,
every wonder,
she is there, and she creates with me.

Father time has his ways.
His twisty, turny, curvy, helixy ways...

But God has his ways too.
Time does not take form with God, He is present in it all.
He breaths life into every memory, every moment, every minute to come.
He walks among the joy, the pain, the beauty, the misery and he gives life.

"In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! we are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory."
J.R.R. Tolkien