henri nouwen woke me up this morning with this...
"Those who think that they have arrived, have lost their way. Those who think they have reached their goal, have missed it. Those who think they are saints, are demons. An important part of the spiritual life is to keep longing, waiting, hoping, expecting. In the long run, some voluntary penance becomes necessary to help us remember that we are not yet fulfilled. A good criticism, a frustrating day, an empty stomach, or tired eyes might help to reawaken our expectation and deepen our prayer: Come Lord Jesus, come."
(The Genesee Diary)
as i was writing in my journal i was thinking about 'longing, waiting, hoping, expecting' in a world where it is largely assumed i can get what i want - now. there is an assumption that we can be satisfied customers. we think we can have it all, including a guarantee.
nouwen reminded me that some of the best things are yet to come.
there is a part of me that must remain unsatisfied.
there is a part of me that must remain hungry.
there is a part of me that must anticipate on my tiptoes.
there is a part of me that lives in the now, but not yet, and that part needs to stop complaining and keep running.
in place of complaining i must see this as a promise...like a gift on xmas eve before the other gifts are received on xmas day when the best is shared.
no matter what needs to be done and can be done...no matter what is necessary for today...no matter where we must have unwavering commitment to as we make things happen on earth as they are in heaven...there is still heaven and all the other promises that will arrive like xmas when maranatha is realized.
open whatever you are given.
be grateful no matter what.
don't stop longing, waiting, hoping, expecting.
life will daily remind us.
life will wear on us like sandpaper on wood.
life at times can be a lot like heaven or a lot like hell, but it isn't.
after i read nouwen i thought of hebrews 12:1-3...keep running...
Thursday, June 24, 2010
architecture
frank lloyd wright said:
"Architecture is born in the heart"
it makes me think of the buildings he has created.
it makes me think of cities and their constructed skylines.
it makes me think of realized dreams that began on a drawing board as the architect pencils the conceptions of a dream...a dream of so many possibilities.
as he speaks of the relationship of the internal and the external in regard to the creation of physical spaces, i was thinking about how grace creates new lives.
this is something i believe.
this is something i believe more real than concrete is hard.
i don't know how many things i know for sure, but this is one of them.
i believe in new creations because something new has happened in the heart.
i believe in resurrection, i believe in newness, i believe all the promise can come true, i believe in his power and presence, i believe in grace.
on my best days i know this is true.
on my worst days i believe, help my unbelief.
the external can be crafted skillfully from morality, evil, and everything in-between...but grace can work something that is seen that comes from the inside out when it happens right.
God may be the only one who knows that interior space well enough to judge what is constructed or seen by the world. he is familiar with the inmost places, that interior place, the heart of things...it becomes a drawing board where things are creatively conceived and come to life. he knows the inside well, he is creative, and it is a little sobering to admit that he can access the external.
on our best days the architecture of our lives is created by a heart that has experienced his grace...
a city on a hill cannot be hidden.
"Architecture is born in the heart"
it makes me think of the buildings he has created.
it makes me think of cities and their constructed skylines.
it makes me think of realized dreams that began on a drawing board as the architect pencils the conceptions of a dream...a dream of so many possibilities.
as he speaks of the relationship of the internal and the external in regard to the creation of physical spaces, i was thinking about how grace creates new lives.
this is something i believe.
this is something i believe more real than concrete is hard.
i don't know how many things i know for sure, but this is one of them.
i believe in new creations because something new has happened in the heart.
i believe in resurrection, i believe in newness, i believe all the promise can come true, i believe in his power and presence, i believe in grace.
on my best days i know this is true.
on my worst days i believe, help my unbelief.
the external can be crafted skillfully from morality, evil, and everything in-between...but grace can work something that is seen that comes from the inside out when it happens right.
God may be the only one who knows that interior space well enough to judge what is constructed or seen by the world. he is familiar with the inmost places, that interior place, the heart of things...it becomes a drawing board where things are creatively conceived and come to life. he knows the inside well, he is creative, and it is a little sobering to admit that he can access the external.
on our best days the architecture of our lives is created by a heart that has experienced his grace...
a city on a hill cannot be hidden.
without words
i keep thinking about the experience of being without words - but so full of emotions.
is it saying something about me?
is it saying something about the moment?
is it someone else saying something to me?
is it the moment saying something to me?
is it something familiar?
is it something unfamiliar?
is it one of these things or maybe a couple?
is it possibly all of these things?
i remember toward the end of the book of job, he covers his mouth after spending time offering up question after question. when God shows up job speaks of 'things too wonderful for me to know.' he will be quiet and listen because he has seen and felt, and it brings humility.
as i held my new grandson max in my arms the words began to disappear, my vocabulary thinned out, my syntax vanished, adjectives felt impotent, participles dangled and everything fell into a space too full to understand. the one word i am hanging on with white-knuckles is the word 'humility.'
i don't know of everything that was happening emotionally as i held him, yet at the same time it seems recognizable. i know this...but in a different way. yet even if i could see the shape of things partially, or run my hand along the contoured edge of something, or make out what is focused and unfocused at the same time...i don't know if it can be said in words - even if it seems somehow familiar but also very different, at the same time.
what is the relationship of humility and paradox?
what is the relationship between grandson and grandpa?
i remember holding my own children - it was the first time i had held a baby. there was a part of me that wanted to reserve that space, those moments...so i actually tried not to hold other babies. that sounds odd but it is true. it is a strange preference or unusual conviction to reserve the actual physical space for my own children that mirrored something in my heart - just for them.
now i remember holding my grandchild, a boy named max.
now i anticipate holding my next grandchild who is arriving in september.
now i am struggling with the words as a imagine giving them a space in my arms and in my life...a space reserved just for them that no one else can have.
it seems to be a glorious, magnanimous, undoing in the heart that falls back into itself with such intensity and force and joy...it is all those things and more, more joy than my heart or my arms can hold.
is it saying something about me?
is it saying something about the moment?
is it someone else saying something to me?
is it the moment saying something to me?
is it something familiar?
is it something unfamiliar?
is it one of these things or maybe a couple?
is it possibly all of these things?
i remember toward the end of the book of job, he covers his mouth after spending time offering up question after question. when God shows up job speaks of 'things too wonderful for me to know.' he will be quiet and listen because he has seen and felt, and it brings humility.
as i held my new grandson max in my arms the words began to disappear, my vocabulary thinned out, my syntax vanished, adjectives felt impotent, participles dangled and everything fell into a space too full to understand. the one word i am hanging on with white-knuckles is the word 'humility.'
i don't know of everything that was happening emotionally as i held him, yet at the same time it seems recognizable. i know this...but in a different way. yet even if i could see the shape of things partially, or run my hand along the contoured edge of something, or make out what is focused and unfocused at the same time...i don't know if it can be said in words - even if it seems somehow familiar but also very different, at the same time.
what is the relationship of humility and paradox?
what is the relationship between grandson and grandpa?
i remember holding my own children - it was the first time i had held a baby. there was a part of me that wanted to reserve that space, those moments...so i actually tried not to hold other babies. that sounds odd but it is true. it is a strange preference or unusual conviction to reserve the actual physical space for my own children that mirrored something in my heart - just for them.
now i remember holding my grandchild, a boy named max.
now i anticipate holding my next grandchild who is arriving in september.
now i am struggling with the words as a imagine giving them a space in my arms and in my life...a space reserved just for them that no one else can have.
it seems to be a glorious, magnanimous, undoing in the heart that falls back into itself with such intensity and force and joy...it is all those things and more, more joy than my heart or my arms can hold.
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