Quiet

    There is so much to be observed when I am quiet. The character of my family, the character of a person I spoke with for less than five minutes, the way the tree branches stand apart from the sky, the physical and the intangible.
    But I know so much less about interacting with people when I become more quiet. I don't know what people want to know about me, I don't know what would make them laugh, I forget what might be good to share.
   To gain the quiet, curiosity of my spirit, I lose the ability to communicate as well as I had.
   Must something always be lost in order to gain? In order to gain us, God lost his one son. In order to gain God's kingdom, we must lose ourselves. In order to lose ourselves, we must learn to rule our selfish desires, putting it to death, and so we exchange peace for victory.
   But we gain peace with God. We gain ourselves in Him. For all we lost in our relationship with God, we gained so much more.
   But what of other things? To gain a closer relationship with my family, I put my friends more at a distance. To keep a relationship with my friends, I grow too tired to do things with my family.
   To keep my heart and sanity intact I gave up telling people what I was thinking and feeling, growing content to be alone. I traded loneliness for a lack of skill.
   Through it all, I ask this question: God, what am I doing? Is this right? Am I doing this because I lack faith, or because it is what I am designed to do? Is this preparation for the future, or fighting your will? How do I tell the difference?
   God, who hears every thought, who understands every emotion, who knows me and hears me and stays with me, who changes me to be like you, lead me in the way you would have me go, quiet or a speaker. In the name of Christ, amen.

Absurd

If I were you,
I'd turn away.
I would not wait
another day
to leave behind
this wayward child
who yells and hits
with passions wild.
If I were you,
I'd draw away
and give the child
the choice I made.

When you were me,
you did not sin;
you blessed the father,
without, within.
You healed the sick
helped the poor
spoke the truth,
gave more and more.
When you were me
you did not cease
till every task
brought the righteous peace.

To be God's child--
an absurd thought!
As if a shark
were a child's pet.
As if a mute was given scripts
for Hamlet's speeches, Shakespeare's wit,
As if a cripple wore ballet shoes
and stood on stage while Swan Lake played.
As if the deaf were given CDs
without their titles, told to sort them, please.
Each scene mocks beauty, each scene absurd,
the child of God, that title's squandered.

"When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd."

Sheep are dumb,

helpless, smelly.

I could be

a sheep of yours.

But God if I

your sheep would be,

then "I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep"

was said to me.

It is absurd, 

this love of yours,

but when you speak

my soul ignores

the mocking picture 

I have of me,

I silence my fears

for what you will, will be.

Well Done

    "Well done, good and faithful servant." The thought of Jesus saying that to me sends chills up my spine, wonder through my heart. I have just read The Last Battle and watched a king, a king in character, name, position, mind, and heart, fight a hopeless war. I watched him lose. I heard him, after he lost, greet the High King above him, having fought till the end. I rejoiced as he walked and spoke with other kings and queens, and saw the friendship of royal people in its majesty and simplicity. After that, Aslan came.
    "but as he spoke the earth trembled. The sweet air grew suddenly sweeter. A brightness flashed behind them. All turned. Tirian turned last because he was afraid. There stood his heart's desire, huge and real, the golden Lion, Aslan himself, and already the others were kneeling in a circle round his forepaws and burying their hands and faces in his mane as he stooped his great head to touch them with his tongue. Then he fixed his eyes upon Tirian, and Tirian came near, trembling, and flung himself at the Lion's feet, and the Lion kissed him and said 'Well done, last of the Kings of Narnia who stood firm at the darkest hour.'"
     We're studying Revelation in Bible study, and I read of those who also stand firm in the last hour; us. I read of the witness we are to hold. I read of Tirian thinking of all the children that became friends of Narnia in its need, and felt as he did, for they 'came from somewhere beyond the world and fought a great battle and set him on his father's throne. 'But it was all long ago,' said Tirian to himself. 'That sort of thing doesn't happen now.'" Our victories, pictured in the Bible, don't happen like that now. Yet Tirian was still able to call to Aslan. He asked for help from the Lion, from those who were His. I thought of my faith and my struggle, my lackadaisical witness and my careless evaluation of God and His word, my apathy for His glory. I speak more with Tirian's doubt than his faith.
  Tirian was a king, and I wish to be a queen, a servant in God's kingdom. And when I think that someday I may hear "Well done, good and faithful servant," even after it appears I have lost, because God has still won, I tremble with wonder and longing. God, grant that your work may be done well, by a faithful servant, not a careless one. Grant me faith to believe in your victories, even when I can't see them. In the name of Christ, amen.