Musings

     Once upon a time there was a friar who lived with outlaws, outlaws who stole from the rich to give to the poor. Their lives were hard, cold, and often wet and dangerous, but the fellowship and adventure they had often made them happy, and their knowledge of the people they helped gave them strength to continue, even when the prince regent sent forces against them. But the outlaw band was one day confronted with the king, returned from his war, and swore fealty to him and to obey his commands. The one person who was excepted was the friar, for friars are sworn to the church above all. But the king, who was pleased that his people had honest defenders while he was gone, asked the friar what reward the king could give him. The friar, stuttering, said that he had what he wanted--friends, a place to live, animals (two dogs) he cared for, and his conscience was quiet. The king told him he was rich with a wealth kings could not give, for he had the riches of content.

    I forget which version of Robin Hood I read that in; I have read many. An interesting thought for a Black Friday.

    Contentment is a rare gift. A part of my mind is pondering how it relates to selflessness, for contentment is acceptance and satisfaction with what is owned, while selflessness is a passion to give out of what one has. Perhaps its the serenity that both possess, the lack of rebellion or dissatisfaction with what God has given, that drew them together in my mind.

Disjointed Puzzles, Dreams

    I draw in things and sometimes the pieces of life fit together like a puzzle.

    A conversation with a friend, telling her that she could not give up dreaming. ("Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life"... and she has born so much disappointment.) To give up dreaming, hoping, wishing and working for things, to drift in life, is similar to stopping loving at all because a loved one was lost. It allows for no pain, but no life either.

     "I dreamed a dream [...] When hope was high, And life worth living, I dreamed that love would never die, I dreamed that God would be forgiving [...] I had a dream that life would be So different from this hell I'm living, So different now from what it seems, Now life has killed the dream I dreamed."

    Another conversation with a different friend, telling her she could not give up, drawing her out of her anger and disappointment and frustration and confusion--reactions to her fear, the circumstances out of her control. Seeing everything I wanted to be able to do for others when she came to realize the truth.

    My head thrown back to look at the stars, white-clad arms held out from my sides, my flame-colored skirt drifting around me, telling God I could not believe I would fit in His kingdom. He who created the stars and the wind and the strength of the trees, He could love me; I could not love Him as I should. Didn't He know that?

     A sermon this morning, where Jesus commanded a tax collector "Follow Me." Jesus command was sovereign, and the tax collector left--his business, permanently, his life, and his own dreams, because Jesus' word was sovereign. It was not that the tax collector was able, but that Jesus' word could not be refused. His command enabled; He spoke and it was done. Then Jesus ate with the tax collector's friends.

    I am a pharisee and the sinner, the condemning hater who also knows the depth of her own sin. God, your child?

     "I desire mercy and not sacrifice." "I heard the bells more loud and deep, 'God is not dead, nor does He sleep!' [...] A voice, a chime, a chant sublime, 'Peace on earth, good will to men.'"

     Why can I hear the battles of others, join them whole-heartedly, then hide from myself when alone? Why can I see His kingdom so clearly in them, and not in myself? When they open their hearts, God's power comes out, even when they're struggling. Their lives picture His kingdom, their struggles His possibilities. Open your heart to me and it is a gift, even if you hold nothing but pain. Why is it so very, very easy to see God's hand in you, and yet I hold nothing but impatience for the people working for mortgage companies who call on the phone at work who ask the exact same questions several times, several times a day...

    I wonder if it is because of what I dream, for my life. I have asked to be another Amy Carmichael, another Sister Teresa. I know my God, that such a thing is possible. I know myself, that such a thing will not happen unless every piece of me is broken, and if I am fortunate, that will happen two or three pieces at a time, instead of one by one. Therefore I do not hope for my own future, only wait and trust. Is that shutting off my dreams? Does that lack of hope create impatience with this life, the intense desire for books and movies and stories that I would replace His world with?

    That I would replace my failures with?

    The stories...that contain victory. The movies that contain challenges overcome. The books that contain heroes.

     The dream that they offer.

      Life, reality, kills those dreams. Or maims them.

      But when I asked, the night beneath the stars, doesn't God know, the answer was yes. Unequivocally, yes. He knows what I am. He knows what I wish. He knows how I tend to kill those dreams. And I have decided to live in His world, even if I must deal with who and what I am in that world.

    Or so I have said. "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak..."