Silenced

It is not my argument shattering the peace and wholeness of them (I love them),
it is not my fight. I look at
them, their hurt, their fallennes, their minds upset, and I know
I am mute. I have nothing to say, no
solution, no
peace, no
gentleness to
bring them.
I have nothing to say.
I have nothing to pray.
They would not want to hear.
I plead, silently, mutely,
unknowing how to look,
for the least glance may be deadly, make
the situation explode.
I plead with God, I plead for them
with no tears, no groans, nothing but a body on a couch,
wondering why I'm here, why I hear,
when to them, I am nothing but an unwelcome presence,
when I can do nothing but hurt and pray.

God, when will this be enough?
When will these cries be heard?
When will you touch and heal?
When can I hear my own cries,
when I no longer lock the inside,
when I can speak and be heard,
when I can hear, more than is said,
to God be the glory, for all pain is dead!
When silence will no longer bind me,
when finally, they will be free,
and pain and sin will die
in the glory of God-given life.

An Absurd Picture

I know this needs to be edited, particularly the last paragraph, but I'll post what I have for now. :)
    This morning it was raining. Now rain is not an unusual event, though it is slightly inconvenient to plans and picnics. However, the rain this week had been quite courteous and held off its drizzle till I was safely at work, and I thus enjoyed the storm-swirled air without soaking my hair before work. Not so this morning. No, this morning it was raining just around seven thirty-five, when I walk to work. 

     Now the rain in part may be excused, for I had not intended to walk to work this morning. The friend to whom I lent my car was in the hospital, and had no further need of my lovely mechanical luxury. I had reclaimed it--or rather, a sister had gone and fetched it for me and brought it home. But last morning I had found, on the way to the gym, that it was even more disinclined to exertion than I was, even at five forty-five in the morning (cars, after all, never keep good time, so time in the short term should not affect them). I took it home and let it sit. Hence, I was without the luxury of sitting and moving, and had instead the luxury of walking (for I can never walk somewhere without an excuse for doing so now; such is a sad fact of life). So I put on my black leather jacket and went out. 

    To the porch, that is. The rain was coming down, not hard, but constantly, and even I could see the foolishness of walking to a professional place in without protection. Then I bethought me of a gift I had hanging on a hanger downstairs (underneath my belts, since I never use it). It was a bright pink umbrella. 

     Now all of you know me well, and know that I detest and despise three things that come immediately to mind: scarves, umbrellas, and pink. The umbrella I own I believe was given to me by Liz (I think it was because she always threatened to give me scarves, and it was in Budapest that I was going to use the umbrella, so I associate it with her), who got it from the free pile. Well, Liz would be proud of me for using it, and I was ready for something absurd, so I went, swinging my six belts off onto my bed, and taking the umbrella. (It is a very noticeable pink, especially on a cloudy day). I went back upstairs, grabbed my tan and brown Guatemala/llama purse that bulged from the water jar inside it, put that over my black leather jacket, and snuck past my mother (who would immediately offer me a ride, and I have yet to persuade her that doing something absurd is not only more fun, but better for the soul, than being sensible). I went out the door and walked down our street. 

    I won't pretend I didn't regret my choice, as I walked in white formal sandals (a strap with a gold buckle around the heel, of course), black capris, black leather jacket, brown/tan purse, and pink umbrella, especially as the one broken metal line clinked in my ear at every step. But I eventually started laughing inwardly at the picture I made, laughing--until I got to Ashworth Road, the four lane street I had to run across. With a pink umbrella held like a flag around my head. Or perhaps until I got to the trees, the wet limbs brushing low enough that my umbrella hit the top of my head in its attempts to avoid them. But then I laughed all the more, though a part of me wondered how many of the many cars held coworkers who knew I walked, and who would be staring at me in disbelief. I shook it off. After all, it had been too long since I had been absurd--and I was enjoying my walk in the rain. The scent of tulips--have you ever smelled them in the rain? Walking past, I enjoyed it for a moment, and then another smell overpowered it--most likely the lovely magnolia tree a few feet ahead. I continued walking and smiled, for I was literally walking on flower petals, a romantic dream come true--until I slipped on one and nearly fell. I shook my head--the prosaic always ruins the romance. 

Dependent on a Word

      The sermon this morning was amazing. We're going through Matthew, and this about Jesus's forty day fast and temptation. The sermon had several points, but I have been asking questions about fasting, especially about when to end, and some of the things that were said stuck with me.
    One, Jesus's temptation was really about dependence on God (fitting in with the theme that Jesus's whole life was a life of weakness). The first temptation, making bread from stones, was not, in and of itself, sin. However, Jesus is fasting as obedience to God, for forty days AND nights, and is dependent on God on when to end it (the fast ends as angels come to minister to him). Oh, how tempting that would be! To make bread, when it is not directly wrong--but God has commanded that Jesus fast, and, though he has done well/right for forty days, it is not ended yet. The second test is also subtle; it asks Jesus to prove his power, that God really cares for him; my pastor pointed out that Jesus's answer shows Jesus's understanding that this is Jesus's test of righteousness, not God being tester. The third test is not subtle; the devil gets right to what he wants, Jesus's worship of himself, God lowering himself. This test (my own thought, not my pastor's point) was the immediate gratification vs. the suffering that was going to come.
     One of the most striking thoughts, however, was how Christ answered: with the Word of God. My pastor pointed out that Christ was the word--anything he said would technically be the word of God. But Christ uses the Old Testament, the word that he was given, and uses it wisely/correctly. Satan uses it too, yes, but Christ's dependence on God was on more than bread, but on the wisdom to answer Satan's attacks, and the wisdom to live--to wait to end his fast till God sent angels to minister to him. I knew, from Psalm nineteen, just how important the Word is--reviving the soul, rejoicing the heart, purity enlightening the eyes, wisdom itself, warning of sin. But this--Satan lost this war because Christ depended on the word of God.
      I want that--I want that so badly. I came home and read Pilgrim's Progress. In there are Christians known as "Little-Faith," who barely made it to heaven, who complained this whole life through, and "Greatheart," who defeats the Giant Despair. I, indolent and gluttonous as I am, with as little faith and as complaining a spirit as the weakest of Bunyan's characters, want to be one of God's champions, one of those who escort people along the narrow way, even though that means traversing that dark path again and again, with Satan's new tortures along the way, even though that means loving--and suffering with--each person through their fears and disappointments and hurts. And I believe God can change me to that, me, I, kesse, girl who lives half in imagination and half in fighting against bitterness at reality. But I am made in the image of God, and He has redeemed me, past tense, redeemed. And I will be His, and I will wait on Him, with faith, dependent on Him to change me. Warrior, champion, healer, prophet, minuscule  person in the corner, I believe first and foremost that He will do what is best, and that it will be good. All glory to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, Trinity three in one!