Our customary afternoon walk was permeated with tepid warmth that almost matched my husband's tolerance of summer.  The day transformed quickly from a rainy, cold breeze to a soft, balmy infusion of sun and heat.  We walked in pleasant agreement that indeed, the Lord has endowed us with a good day, and our fitting response was a joyful reception of its gifts.  Or, at minimum, those were the sentiments warming my heart on this gentle stroll in the eye of summer.

I had waited for this season on long, interminable rainy afternoons, sometimes despairing that it would never come. My skin hungered for the breath of sun filling its pores, my eyes thirsty for light flooding unrestrained the slimming atmosphere.  Now that the sun is here to linger for a few more weeks, I want to spend my days bathing in its luxurious light, bottling its nourishing heat for the long and barren months of winter.  The society of our benevolent day star  is a dream unrequited - my hands are busy tilling the garden I am currently parceled in the cradle of summer.  

Summer, more than any other time, points my eyes to Home.  I dream of that place where the Son never sets - His brightness illuminating a land alive with music and color.  With my mind,  I sometimes walk paths of green meadows exhaling melody and color in hues so vivid that neurons cannot process.  In that place, the trees seem to sway their branches in a low and arched embrace, answering the flowers in a concert of captivating tunes.  Water clear as glass is hugging my feet, while rocks infuse the stream with flawless harmony.  I stop under the shadow of a tree not to gain respite from unfettered heat, but to allow the sounds to fill my pores with fresh awe for my undeserved lot in God's eternal summer.  

I dream of the City whose walls shimmer and burn with the radiance of precious stones.  The best day here is a dim shadow of that land beyond the veil that separates spirit from flesh, time from eternity, material from spiritual.   But, more than anything, I dream of Jesus...  What will I say when my eyes will at last see Him?  Will words even be needed?   I have thought of that moment many times...  I don't think I will ask Him any questions that seem so pressing on this side of the veil. The trials and toils of this life will be dissolved and forgotten with one look in His all-consuming eyes.  All I want to say as I embrace His nail-scarred feet is "thank you", for days and time without end.

In a few weeks, summer will be a sweet memory, and the longing for its return will awaken with the return of charcoal skies.  The celestial star will dim its light for many months, its glow tempered as Earth tilts away from its radiance.  Yet even in the midst of winter, my heart will retain the glow of  my eternal Home, its core set ablaze by the embers of God's eternal love in Christ Jesus.

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth,  for the first heaven and earth had passed away, and the sea was no more... But I saw no temple in the city, because the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, because the glory of God illuminates the city, and the Lamb is its lamp. By its light the nations will walk, and into it the kings of the earth will bring their glory.  Its gates will never be shut at the end of the day, because there will be no night there. "  (Revelation 21:1, 22-25)

Night song

The songs bursting outside my windows were the sounds of a fleet of birds, obscured by night to my curious eye. It seemed as if all the winged mammals from across the vast expanse of Earth had traversed land and sea and convened here, at this midnight hour, in Jerusalem.  I listened with wander how so many birds could unite their melodies in one place, for their captivating sounds seemed to come from thousands of them.  I will never know if these winged songstresses had left other lands for that fateful  night in Chronos, on a hill in the beautiful city.  My ears had not experienced such a burst of happy sound from so many birds uniting their song in one place, and I suspect such an experience will not repeat itself in the parcel of space I call home.

At some point, I heard the voices of a group of women raised in a beautiful hymn whose words I couldn't decipher, yet whose melody moved my soul.  Later I learned that sisters from the Evangelical Sisterhood of Mary have sung on the Temple Mount, and maybe it was these sisters that raised their worship that midnight hour in Jerusalem.

Every spring I wait for the song of the birds whose anthem heralds greater things to come.  Their cheerful tunes remind me that, very soon, the sun will linger longer than the night, and in its light the earth will breathe again.  From the womb of summer, berries of all varieties delight our palates and replenish our vitamin levels drained by winter.  Vegetables of many colors transform meals into feasts, and fruits of many kinds follow each other in rapid succession to satisfy our tastebuds and restore our mineral reserves.

One of the (many) reasons I don't like winter is the absence of  birds.  Only crows remain,  and their nagging tone is devoid of pleasure or melody.  Black, bleak and menacing, the crows remind me that all is not well outside Eden lost, and that one day we shall return to the City "whose builder and maker is God", to a new heaven and a new earth where birds will never cease to sing and light - the glory of God Himself - will never dim its glow.

The soul experiences the bleakness of winter as well, or "the dark night of the soul".  Fears, worries and doubts rush like the troubled sea into the inner chambers of the heart, seeking to drown out the coals of faith barely flickering in the night.  We toil and labor in our minds, our pillows drenched with wet sorrow.  Like Job, we dread the rising of the sun, for day renews our toils under the merciless threats of Pharaoh's henchmen.  But rise we must, and move, and find the light in the numbing darkness encompassing the land within.  In days and weeks like these, only the Breath of God will quicken our bony, lifeless forms into an "exceedingly strong" army.  His Breath is His Word, and the Words He speaks "are spirit, and they are life" (John 6:63).   In the thick of darkness' assaults, the fire of His Word will light our path, scorching the enemy within even as tribulations remain without.   "Fear not, for I am with you",  His Words sound in our ears as the Spirit burns them on our hearts.  If we lean close enough, we will hear a song rising from the heart of the Father, the pledge of His love rekindling the dying embers of hope.  

Summer is here, witness of winter's ended dominion, just as day testifies to the flight of night.  One day, when the eyes of the soul will be eternally dimmed and the doors in the streets are shut for the last time,  God's children will enter eternal summer.  The rains will no longer beat their weary bodies, the sun will not scorch their unprotected limbs, and Pharaoh's henchmen will not frighten them with heavy burdens.  Until then, the Father's love will quiet our souls through life's storms and His joy will be our strength through all our toils.  

"The LORD your God in your midst, The Mighty One, will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.”  (Zephaniah 3:17)

The Last Hour

 These last few months, the forum of thought has been confused and muddied by a buffet of contradictory ideas.  I am specifically referring to ideas that explore realities beyond the earthly sphere,  well beyond the span of 70 or 80 years that our bodies are animated by Breath.  If our destination matters, then our journeys and their guiding philosophies matter just as much.  Now, more than at any time in recent history, it matters who Jesus is and what He is still saying today.

To those whose minds are set on the things of earth, Jesus is shiny.  Their Jesus is dressed in the latest runway fashion, owns a fleet of luxury vehicles, and circles the globe dining at exclusive restaurants and sleeping in presidential suites.  This Jesus writes blank cheques to every request, especially to the ones that expand their barns and raise their profiles.  The disciples of this Jesus casually trip over each other to the peak of excess, blasting their facade of gold as the seal of His blessing.  

To others, Jesus is all soft and bending when poked with trespasses and apostate wanderings.  Like an overindulging parent, He rarely disciplines the straying child under the pretense of love.  They follow from afar,  clothed in the swaddling cloths of a warped grace creed, stunted infants rarely drinking the pure milk of the Word.

To others, Jesus is all silence.  He never has an opinion, or counsel, or command.  Only their lifestyle is allowed to bear witness for such as tacitly observe this Jesus.  This Jesus readily follows, whether it be cultural trends or political dogmas.  He easily conforms to the "idea of the day",   shifting His form as needed to dethrone yesterday's truths with today's delusions.

But to those who are "born of God", loved and chosen before the foundation of the world, "rooted and built up in Him", Jesus is none of these things.  These have seen and tasted by personal experience Jesus "full of grace and truth".  Yes, Jesus is love - love uninterrupted,  stretching into eternity.  But love divorced from truth is a farse, the foundation for a grand delusion.  What parent can stay silent when their child is about to touch a burning stove?  What doctor can deny a patient's diagnosis in the name of being nice?  And yet that's what some expect of Jesus...  Silence, unconditional validation, even surrender.

While walking the dusty streets of Galilee or Capernaum, Jesus "went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed of the devil".  He had no place to lay His head, relying on the kindness of the mortals whose days He fashioned and whose substance He formed.  He had no food to soothe His hunger, stripping blades of wheat as He walked through dusty fields, healing the blind and raising the dead on the way.  When confronted with the sinners of the day, He denied condemnation and offered salvation.  In Him, men and women are made new, and hearts hardened by sin now beat with the rhythms of hope and new beginnings.  

Jesus called His disciples to radical love.  Love that is not overcome by evil, but overcomes evil with good.  Love that dies to self, to the world, to inordinate affections.  Love that "suffers long and is kind", love that is not envious, love devoid of pride.  Love that gives voice to those who cannot speak for themselves, love that advocates for the destitute (Prov. 31:8).   Jesus called His followers to an upside-down economy of transactions where the leaders serve, the meek rule, the persecuted rejoice.  He established His kingdom not by crushing opponents, but by enthroning Himself in the hearts of those who receive and believe in His Name.  To the least of these, Jesus is Friend,  Savior, and soon-coming King.  

"But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His Name:  who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God"   John 1:12, 13

Christmas

 Mary drew her Son close to her breast, the smell of His newborn skin enveloping her senses.  She could feel His breath exhaled in a soft mist rising in the cold air of the manger.  She looked at His face, now locked in a deep sleep she wanted to prolong for as long as possible.  She counted His fingers and His toes, as she had done so many times, enjoying His firm grip on her finger.  Looking at His tiny body wrapped in long strips of cloth, she felt like all the love of the universe had gathered and condensed in a  blazing stream of tender affection that not even death would be able to extinguish.   He was here, and she had grown overnight, her only mission now to nurture and protect the Baby resting in her arms.  How gently He rested in her young embrace, His quiet sleep filling her with new assurance.  She could see the moving of His tiny lungs with each rise and fall of the abdomen, His gentle purr filling her thoughts with wonder.  

Nothing about His origin or His birth was ordinary.  Mary pondered the time the Angel visited her, announcing His arrival.  He would be conceived of the Holy Spirit, the angel told her, and the power of the Highest would overshadow her.  "He will be great", the angel said, "and will be called the Son of the Highest".   "You shall call His Name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins", the angel finally instructed.   Mary trembled under the weight of the messenger's words, fear and unbelief filling her tender soul.  For fifteen centuries, the prophets had spoken of the coming Messiah, and every Sabbath in synagogues across the land,  the hearts of her people swelled with the expectation of His coming.  Moses, David, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Micah...  She had heard the prophecies read hundreds of times of God's Anointed One Who would come to save His people.   Burdened by Roman rulers who outdid each other in cruel and barbaric acts toward her people, their expectation for Messiah was at an all-time high.  And now, He would finally come...

A soft cry interrupted Mary's reveries, and she wrapped Him tighter in the meager strips of cloth to shield him from the encroaching coolness of the night.  A few hours ago, wise men from the East had come in an astonishing procession,  driven to the manger in the thick of night by a bright and guiding star.  When they entered the stall, they knelt before the Baby, their aged eyes misting with tears.  They bowed long and deep, their reverence filling the manger with the fragrance of the Holy.  They spoke little and sang songs, their eyes transfixed on the tiny body in Whom the Godhead dwelt.  Then, in a final act of worship, they laid before Him costly treasures:  gold, frankincense and myrrh. 

What a night it had been, Mary pondered in silence as she recounted the coming of the shepherds.  After the wise men, the little manger filled with noise again as excited shepherds burst upon the humble stall.  They had seen an angel in the sky, they said, His light shining around brighter than the day.  "Do not be afraid", he said, "for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people.  For there is born to you this day in the city of David a savior, who is Christ the Lord".  As soon as the angel finished speaking, the heavens exploded with song, and untold choirs of angels heralded the great news.   The entire atmosphere was enveloped in light and in praise, and joy bathed and infused every fiber of their being.  They had to come and see the newborn King,  and, as they left, they loudly proclaimed the news about the Child.

Two thousand years have passed since God entered our world in the most vulnerable form, the body of a Baby.  This Child grew and lived a life without spot or wrinkle - a perfect life.  He never wrote a book, or led an army, or conquered an empire.  And yet, since His advent, our world has never been the same.  He came to save us from the sin that steals, and kills, and destroys.   He came to show us that God knows us, loves us and wants us.  He came to bring peace to a world forever at war.  This Christmas,  He will come again to every heart that makes Him room, and every chamber that is dark will explode with the life and light of His presence.

"Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me."

Fall is coming...

 For the last few weeks, fall has been stretching its chilly limbs into our atmosphere, warning us of things to come.  No, we have not experienced an arctic blast or any cataclysmic weather inversion system.   In fact, September has been unusually balmy,  the skies have been blue, the sun darting quiet heat into midday hours.  However, for someone who is highly sensitive to the the first and last embrace of light, the crispy mornings and brisk evenings have been a notably discernible change.  

I seem to be in the minority with this nostalgia over summer's departure.  The internet seems to have come alive with the changing of the leaves and the shedding of torrential heat as summer breaths its last.  The blogosphere is ringing with delight tidings of all things pumpkin and sweater weather.  The young and the young-at-heart are resetting their calendars, shifting focus and priorities with the demands of another school year.  Apples of various shades and blends of sweet-versus-tart are offered where once blueberries filled market stands, and squashes of all stripes are replacing the delicate salad bunches that spelt summer with their chlorophyll.  The bright colors mimicking summer gardens are replaced with hues of autumn's harvest and the earth that yields it.  Even though Autumn is yet to make its official entrance this Saturday, she has marked her crisp territory in the landscape of our lives, some happily heralding the season's arrival for weeks now.  

In climates other than where I live, fall is truly beautiful, turning forests into shades of red and yellow, bringing a welcome change to the dry exhale of summer.  Even here, fall can put a pleasant face for a day or two or some other crumb of time.  But, just as we begin to love fall back, a dramatic change cloaks the atmosphere with no respite in sight for many months to come.  The skies clothe themselves in sackcloth, sending bone-chilling showers for what seems like endless days.  Rain seems to be the only offering on Autumn's menu according to the laws of climate for our geographical location.  I am sure that the west coast is the birthplace of seasonal affective disorder, also known as "I am tired of the rain" syndrome.  Of course, please take my diagnosis with a grain of salt as I have no letter parade behind my name to qualify me for such pronouncements.

As dreary as fall can be on my morsel of the planet, I can still find joy in the rhythms of daily life if my heart is willing to receive it.  A few days ago I baked the first apple dessert of the season, reminding me of the sweet gifts of autumn.  Soft and juicy pears have been filling our fruit basket as Michal is a pear enthusiast, consuming them with the kind of glee I consume chocolate.  Our house is comfortable at night, as previously the summer heat had dissected our sleep with restless tossings.  The office is finally a pleasant haven for work for my extremely sensitive-to-heat husband.   Fall has brought some welcome changes indeed...

I am learning that each season has an allotment of wisdom, and there are abundant gifts to be gleaned with the changing of the weather.  I wish I had arrived at contentment amidst the graying landscapes earlier in life, but, "forgetting what is behind", I chose thankfulness today.  "God has made everything beautiful for its own time", and He has blessed this season with the abundant yield of the earth.  It is the time of harvesting the abundance of crops, of filling our barns with the fat of the land, of preparing and storing the fruit of men's toil and sweat since the scattering of seed.  Thanksgiving is the pulse of this season, marking our calendars with the reminder that God is good, and that He "richly and ceaselessly provides us with everything for enjoyment".  

Thanksgiving is the noble language of Autumn.  

"O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good: for His mercy endureth for ever" (Psalm 107:1)

Lessons from the BC fires

I sat near the window staring at the once blue sky, now stained in particulate gray and orange hues.  The day was young and hot, but the sun was hidden by the particles the fires breathe in their burning furry.  The indoor air was stifling and unpleasant,  teasing my trachea with a dry cough.  Despite experiencing the fires of near and distant forests for a few years now, we were caught again without an air purifier.  My airways were steadily protesting.  "Costco will fix that tomorrow", I made a mental note.  

Even though the air quality index had shifted a few digits to the right, we were in a fairly clean air bubble compared to my family.  My sister's house is in the belly of the inferno, and for days she was left to wonder whether her home would survive the rapidly-encroaching blaze.  In the rush to comply with the mandatory evacuation, she grabbed a few things for an overnight departure - or so she thought.  The one overnight turned into several days, and she is still not home. Her few things proved insufficient for the unexpected exile, and she had to replenish her exile wardrobe with some necessary finds.  

I thought about what I would take if the rush to evacuate came at an equally inopportune time as hers had come.  I looked at my newly-covered Bible, its pages glowing with life eternal and great and precious promises.  The Word will go first -anytime, anywhere - that was for sure.  The books will stay - there might be blue horizons beyond the burning skies where letters and tea blend in a sweet marriage of senses to expand the wisdom of the soul.  I scanned my wardrobe with my mind's eye, and I regretted that my green skirt would be ashes in this imaginary fire.  For the last few years, green had become the color of my soul, and I treasured its hues in living nature and inanimate matter, hence my green skirt.  

I scanned my possessions with my mind's eye, a dull sadness graying my thoughts.  I spent so much time throughout my relatively short life acquiring things that brought momentary pleasure.  I scoured stores and websites to fill an imaginary "need" to complement other imaginary "needs".  And here stood a potential fire, hungry and devouring, waiting to devastate without discernment my life's acquisitions in a few brief hours...

Up to this moment, my sister's house has been spared the deadly tongue of this fire.  Thankfully, the flames that consumed the books and the minutiae of my life remained confined to my imagination.   The fire was a living threat to thousands of people including my loved ones, so it is not a far-fetched exercise to explore the "what" of the "if" happening at my doorstep.  In fact, it seems like the entire globe is engulfed in fire - and the reasons are not as simplistic as the evening news would like us to believe - but that is the subject of a future rumination.

As I sit here writing under the soft hum of our newly-acquired air purifier, I am thankful that the atmosphere is slowly clearing and the air is becoming easier to breathe.  The sky is still an amorphous, ashy ceiling hiding the horizon.  I ventured for a walk tonight, and the absence of a cough confirmed that the air quality is improving, in case I needed a reliable confirmation.  It seems like our area has been spared the way of our faraway neighbors who are still praying for a breath of clean air.

I am thankful that this deeply-wounded planet is not my terminal destination, and this structure that houses my possessions is not my home.  I am made for eternity - made to dwell in a place so beautiful that the outer limits of my imagination cannot touch.  I am made to love and be loved by God - to know His peace that passes all understanding in the midst of untold turmoil and tribulation.  We are all made for Him - to know and to be known by Him.  To be loved without limits in spite of our failings and our deeply-seated insecurities, and one day, when we breathe our last spoonful of air, to be more alive than ever in His presence.  Today, when what we know is continually distorted or erased by the day's agenda, the love of God made flesh in Christ is the best news - and it is for everyone.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life".  (John 3:16)

Voices

Voices. so many voices... They are assailing our souls through the incessant stream of carefully-crafted news reports; through the billboards that tempt us to ignore the tenth commandment; through the violent invasion of media platforms that seek to mold us into the likeness of this age, to absorb us into the stream of this world until we act no longer as the image bearers of God. Voices savage in their call, sirens that lead to death of reason and ultimately eternal separation from God.

Most of the voices that seek to impose their authority on us have their origin in nefarious lords, kings of the underworld who walk among us in human form.  They beguile to destroy, to separate, to confuse. Sure, they may fly their message with the silver wings of a dove, but their inner bellies are vultures of darkness and deceit.  They are citizens of Babylon, and once again are uniting in their pursuit to reach a heaven without God, a salvation without the cross. 

To everyone whose heart is yearning for a higher tune, a small and gentle voice still speaks, still seeks.  This Voice is a call to love, a call to God, for God is love.  Love that still walks the paths of a long-ago tainted garden, Love that replicates itself in sons and daughters of that firstly-blessed couple, Love whose hands and feet are The church.  Jesus the Christ is The Word we are feverishly seeking for, the living water our burning souls thirst for.  There is no clarity apart from His message, no unity outside His banner, no peace away from His rule.  In Him there is no darkness-His robes are not the murky garb of deceit, but the brilliant vestment of truth.  "I am the way, the truth and the life", He said-and to anyone willing to listen, His cross speaks a message of freedom and eternal life.  To anyone willing to know  things as they are, go to the first stream, the first word, the first cause.  Seek Him in the Book that speaks salvation, the Book that unveils the plan of God, the Book that instructs in the paths of life.  The gate is very narrow,  and the road is difficult, but it is the only path to life.  Draw away from the maddening throng, away from the noise, and you will hear that still, small voice, you will hear life -maybe for the first time.


"Sanctify them by Your truth. Your word is truth." (John 17:17)


"Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." (John 14:6)