Trading my sorrows

I am pressed but not crushed
Persecuted, not abandoned
Struck down but not destroyed
I am blessed beyond the curse
For His promise will endure
That His joy's gonna be my strength

-- From "Trading My Sorrows" by Darrell Evans

Three dollars' worth of God

Something to think about.

I would like to buy three dollars' worth of God, please.
Not enough to explode my soul,
or disturb my sleep,
but just enough to equal a cup of warm milk,
or a snooze in the sunshine.
I don't want enough of Him to make me love a black man
or pick beets with a migrant.
I want ecstasy,
not transformation.
I want the warmth of the womb,
not a new birth.
I want about a pound of the eternal
in a paper sack.
I would like to buy three dollars' worth of God, please.

-- Wilbur Reese (via Aussie Adventures)

Past and present

Most days, I get by fine -- more than fine. There are many things to be joyful about and to be grateful for. But there are days where I come home, and just latching the gate brings a flood of tears; the sound of metal clanging together, unaccompanied by the the incessant barking of a dog to welcome you home, still sounds so unfamiliar to me. Like going to church without my Bible, or a night out at the movies without popcorn -- except that those things don't make you cry; not having your soulmate around does.

***

Grandma took two steps forward and looked thoughtfully at the two steps of our split-level living room. She furrowed her eyebrows and leaned herself on the wall. She insisted on walking on her own; I stood watching, ready to catch her if she fell.

She staggered slowly down the two steps; all the while I edged closer.

"I feel like a child learning how to walk again," she said, with a small smile. Finally reaching level ground, she heaved a sigh of relief, but her smile had disappeared; in its place, I saw her lips pursed in wistfulness, and her eyes glazed with a tinge of sadness.

Grandma

Grandma is sick. If you can manage a prayer for her, I'd be immensely grateful. She's staying with us for the night, and hopefully we'll be able to convince her to let us take care of her. I completely understand that she doesn't want to burden us with her presence, but I wish she knew that there's nothing else that we'd rather do; for her to live on her own when she can't even walk in a straight line worries us beyond what she can imagine. We've been asking her to move in with us for years now; praying, hoping, waiting. It isn't the sickness; it's that she's my grandma.

Grandma is sick, and it is in these moments that my priorities get straightened out. I wish my grandma would come to know Jesus. It's not a project, it's not my mission; it's that Jesus is love. For years now... praying, hoping, waiting.

Rescue

You are the source of life
I can't be left behind
No one else will do
I will take hold of You

I need You, Jesus
To come to my rescue
Where else can I go
There's no other name by
Which I am saved
Capture me with grace
I will follow You

This world has nothing for me
I will follow You

-- "Rescue" by Jared Anderson

Promises

Standing on the promises I cannot fall
Listening every moment to the Spirit’s call
Resting in my Saviour as my all in all
Standing on the promises of God

-- From "Standing on the Promises" by R. Kelso Carter

There aren't many moments more miserable than those in which I lose sight of God's promises to me. I was trying to put those sentiments into words, but somehow could not find the right ones. Then this song popped into my mind; I haven't heard or sung it in eons, but I know that's what God is calling me to do, to stand on His promises, because they are the ones that will come to pass.

Yesterday

Sitting there yesterday, spent from the emotions, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't had such a meaningful exchange in a long time. Don't get me wrong, there are many things that are very important to me, that I talk about with others, but these days it feels like these conversations inevitably end up with us reaching some point where we (1) are incredibly frustrated by the indifference of those around us, or (2) hit this sticky part where we know -- if we take the conversation beyond -- will open an old can of worms that we no longer feel we have the energy to deal with. Some days, I find myself walking away from situations that I never would have before.

Sitting there yesterday, I felt my heart noticeably lighten, and my smile more easy than it had been in a while. We talked for hours, and it didn't matter that we didn't have the answers, or that there were so many things that we couldn't understand nor resolve. It was incredibly refreshing -- the sincerity and concern; where, for once, no one was trying to win an argument for argument's sake, but all seeking after the one thing that truly mattered: the heart of the Father.

Losing love to find romance?

I think one of the big reasons why most marriages end up failing, even in the Church, is because people are getting romance confused with love.

I was checking my e-mail the other day and over on the right side of the screen was a banner advertising an online dating site. At the top it said, “True love is a click away” and beneath that was a model in a black bikini. Since when do toned abs and a pretty face equal love? It seems preposterous to even acknowledge such a thing, yet it’s something that is all too common.

Men are told they are to get the most beautiful girl they can find. In a lot of people’s minds, the success of a man depends on the woman on his arm, or how many has been there before her. When he finds one that is beautiful and sexy, he is lucky, successful, and envied by his peers. I imagine he enjoys knowing that the heads of every man in the room turn to look at his significant other, that so many others are envious of his position. This makes him feel powerful and in control, as if the girl on his arm made him more attractive by just being there.

Women can hear that story and think how silly it is, yet how often, including myself, do we wish we were that girl? How often do we need a man’s approval to feel worth anything? Too often, I think.

-- "The Mysterious Distance" by Drea