See Me Clearly, See Me Clean

A tingle runs up my spine, and I fight a small shiver. As the sun approaches his rocky retreat, a stony silhouette bathed in amber light, the chill of the concrete beneath me increases. Usually oozing with people, the fairgrounds are now almost empty, and my refuge beneath a blackened canopy is particularly lonely. But that is exactly as it should be.

Sitting in the middle, crosslegged on the dusty concrete, I am surrounded only by myself. Dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of contemplative people are staring at me from all directions, but I gave up counting them all hours ago. I would think, amidst the faces I know only too well, I would feel most accepted, most at home. But an eeriness overcomes the hall, and the silent, contorted figures serve only to make me feel more a stranger than ever. A girl to my left is folded over like an ape, and another to my right boasts a neck comprable to a giraffe. These images, while in most circumstances amusing, now impress me only with the true senarios they unintentionally illustrate.

In the eyes of those who know me, aspects of my person are highlighted and others supressed, even hidden. Different people see different nuances, and the sensible, normal image I believe I am projecting often returns to me as a freakish monster. Even I cannot often see myself for what I am, blinded as I am by the mirrors in my mind and heart. And, continuing to gaze through the twisted twins that surround me, I search for a way to correct their frightful faces. Can I purposefully act in a manner to try and bend back these panes to an upright posture? Is there any way that I, a mere visitor to this glistening hall, can hush the murmers of light splashed from panel to panel? No. If I bend them, they will shatter, and a harsh rain of glass shards will shower me with unrelenting questions. My intentions, in their eyes, will be more mangled and curious than before. I cannot correct the scupltures of myself cast in the past, not through the petty knowledge and strength I, as only a ticket holder, possess. Drops of salty water splash in the dust on the ground beneath me.

I stand, and a rain-scented air beckons me outside of my dark, reflective chamber. At the doorway I am greeted by Him, the one I ached to find amidst the confusion within. Pulling me aside, on a soft, grassy knoll away from the society-cast pavement, He again sits me down and captures my still-hungry attention. From His side, where, curiously, I saw no pocket, he brings forward another shimmering sheet, another window into myself. At first, afraid to be yet again terrified of my face, I close my eyes, escaping into the cold comfort of ignorance. But a soft word from His thirsty lips bids me open them again, and I am greeted by a crystal image of the girl I thought no one could truly know. A dull pain still grips me, as I see that many of the dusty marks I had hoped were only contortions remain. But, as I gaze into the mirror, He pulls out a scarlet handkerchief and wipes away the tear-stained marks on my face.

"There," He says, as bloody tears run down His own face, "It is finished."

My prayer

Lord,
You have blessed me so much. Please, help me be a blessing to others.

In the car or walking down the highway . . .

For some reason, this song often comes to my mind, and I find myself singing and trying hard not to close my eyes or let go of the steering wheel (when I'm walking, only the eyes closed part is a potential problem):

I love you Lord,
And I lift my voice
To worship you,
O my soul rejoice.

Take joy my King
In what You hear.
Let it be a sweet, sweet sound
In Your ear.

'Tis a great song . . .

Snow & Ivy

Leaning in the doorway tall,
We glance out on the lilies fair,
Moving through the ivy thick,
We brush the red stems without care.
Pushing past the willows wide,
Our fingers we catch thorns between.

Sitting in the cold stream’s rush,
Our sores are cleansed, unseen.

I know a place where love is space,
Hate, prison bars encompassing,
I’ve seen a time where every chime
Calls steady for a reckoning
Of truth in love, of purity,
Of evanescent lasting light!

How can I say it, still a friend?
I’ll speak it true tonight.

But then we rise, we drip and dry,
We fall onto the luscious grass,
The willows cannot reach us here,
The ivy’s poison has all passed.
My love, you are my love you see,
I have not, though, said so before,

I pray to God this heart I bear
Finds rest upon your shore.

'Mongst the lilies leave me not,
These coffin flowers holding me,
I’ll perish to the world of hope,
I’ll die to you, my true, my sweet.
Oh take us, take me with you now,
Now take us further to the heights!

Where water turns to frozen white,
Bright in the moonlit nights.

Please hold me near, we need to stay
Together ever, or apart
Merely myself will I remain,
Alone with my dark human heart.
I sense your burdens, secrets, fears,
My share, my knight, let me bear too.

And standing in Salvation, we
Will last this dark world through.

Completely overwhelmed by . . . something . . .

And I'm not exactly sure what. It is something wonderful . . . something that lifts me up higher and draws me in deeper. I am completely enveloped in its warmth, suffocated in its sweetness, and freed in its vast expanse. I am humbled by its goodness, awed by its glory, and brought to tears by its beauty. I am utterly amazed. My Father is doing something wholly new in me, and I am eager to witness the result, provided I don't crack under the glorious strain in the process.

A Love Song

You are Lord, Lord of my life.
Every day I lift you up high.
I praise to you Lord. My God and my King.
You reign in me for eternity.

This is a love song to you.
A song of praise to you lord.
I kneel before your glorious throne.
To show that I am yours alone.

You are Lord, Lord of my life.
Every day I lift you up high.
I praise to you Lord. My God and my King.
You reign in me for eternity.

'Cause this is a love song to you.
A song of praise to you Lord.
I kneel before your glorious throne.
To show that I am yours alone.

Hallelujah, I love you.
Hallelujah, I love you.
Hallelujah, I love you.
Hallelujah, I love you.

This is a love song to you.
A song of praise to you lord.
I kneel before your glorious throne.
This is a love song to you.
A song of praise to you lord.
And I kneel before your glorious throne.
To show that I am yours alone.

L'amour est Patient

In other, more familiar words, love is patient. Our modern culture is constantly cheapening the meaning of those qualities we hold so dear: honor, courage, selflessness, love. Self-seeking, impulsive behavior is accepted and even glamorized. Graciousness is portrayed as archaic, and the multifaceted, beautiful nature of love is reduced to mere romantic attraction. Love between friends or family is often considered unexciting or uninteresting. And romantic love is reduced to a selfish emotion, often synonymous with lust, lacking any kind of sacrifice, nurturing, or patience. Ah yes, patience. That is a virtue almost lost in our culture all by itself. But patience in love is a concept almost as alien as . . . aliens! (and there goes my string of good metaphors)

In society in general, and even in much of "Christian society," the concept of love as patient is remarkably uncommon. Browsing books on the subject in Barnes & Noble or Berean, the volume of "find the one for you NOW!" self-help books is astounding, whereas comparatively little can be found on surrendering your life--including your romantic life--entirely to God. As is reflected by the dating lifestyle so rampant today, love has been turned into a "feeling on demand," to be indulged whenever one is inclined, by whomever best fills the need at the time. The beautiful dream of one love for life and the desire to wait for God's perfect timing in bringing that about has become little more than a fairytale. In today's self-serve/fast-service dominated world, matters must be taken into one's own hands if they're to happen how and when one wants.

Sure, we may seek God's will in career choices, college questions, or other weighty matters. But we seem unwilling to seek God, to surrender to God, in matters of the heart. Like babies with candy, we are remarkably unwilling to hand it over to our parents to wait for the perfect time to enjoy it. Love is kind, unselfish, forgiving, never jealous, always faithful . . . and patient. And part of that patience is trusting everything, including the schedule, to God.