Beloved

I believe forgiveness looks like laughter. The sweetest laughter that rises from my heart. That tells my precious friend, there isn't a single thing you could do in this world that I wouldn't forgive you for, you are that close to my heart.

So go ahead, fail me! Try me out! And then come back and watch how we laugh. How that healing salve pours over your wounds and mine and calls us home.

Beloved, let's go home. We'll still be the best of friends there. You and I will bellow laughter when we see him. This is what we always hoped for! Beloved, there will be too much joy for us to handle.

And, I know you're away now, but you're coming home. You're just taking the scenic route. Just like me. One day, we'll be together again. Hugging and tearing, and laughing inspite of the tears.

Beloved, I know you. You are good.

the found the L-RD in the sunrise

i have met the L-RD in the sunrise. this week i woke up every morning before the dawn. looking out into the sky i can still see the stars. the mountains are just silhouettes in the background. when i am driving, the dawn breaks. darkness turns to light. the sky is blue and the sky is yellow and the mountains still live in their darkened mystery. and then i am working. grape by grape into the bucket. i work in silence since i am the foreigner of the group. i am the one who does not belong. in a work force full of aliens, i am the stranger. i begin to pray. and then the sun rises.

and this is when i tell him, i love! i love the mountains, and i love the pink florescent sky, and i love california, and i love this vineyard, still steaming from the morning dew. and, L-RD, i love you! i love you, i love you, i love you, and how long did it take for me to say that? and how long did it take for me to believe that you are good? but you are good and thank you for taking me here. the most beautiful of all places.

here, in this place, sweating in the sun, doing a job that no one wants, picking grapes. this place, exactly where i wanted to go, doing exactly what i wanted to do.

and then i cry out: give me a bigger heart! your love has stilled me, now move me with your love! give me more of you, sweet Jesus. You, like the gazelle, who leaped over the mountains just to be near me. You. Give me more of you. You who took me to the very place where I can love you again.

And six hot hours of manual labour goes by quickly in the silence, contemplation, prayer, and so much celebration.

i used to love the noon day sun, and i have always loved the sunset. but, i have found the L-RD in the sunrise.

So, papa G-D, moved me with your love so that I may love. So that I too may break forth like the dawn. So that my healing may come quickly.

five years in the making

When I first moved to New York City, I fought. With everything in me, I fought G-D. He said Go and when I got there, he said Stay. Every semester he said Stay. I did not want to go to college. Much more, I did not want to lead strategic institutions, and I did not care about classical philosophy, nor politics, nor economics. For the most part, this is all still true, except that, I am repenting.

When I moved to New York City, I had just come home from Europe. In Europe, life changed. There was the day that I got off the train in Paris, and fireworks went off in my heart, I was home like no where else I had ever been before. Then, there was the afternoon in Le Gault la Foret. It was the day that I told the L-RD he was worth more than all else. I wore his ring. I promised him my heart. That day was a sort of pivot. I wore his promise that I would know his love. I love his love.

This all came after the day a stranger told me my life would change in Paris. I scoffed, but in my heart, I waited.

I lived in New York City for four years, telling everyone who asked that I was going to move to Paris. I'm not sure I even believed myself. And then there was the terrible months last year, where I told Him I wanted nothing to do with building His Kingdom. I only wanted to be in the sunshine and pick flower and read poems.

I am here and I do not read nearly enough poems. Rather, my heart is coming out of its long hibernation. I waste my hours away day dreaming how good he is.

I often have looked at girls who get engaged with a kind of awe. How, I wonder, must they feel making such a final decision. How can they be prepared for such a settling? Are they giddy? What is it all like? I look at them as a kind of alien, walking a life I've never lived before.

But today, I wondered if this is how they might feel, when all of the pieces begin to come together. The realization that this is all finally happening. Since I moved to California, all of the pieces of Paris are finally coming together. There is no longer a question in my heart if this is possible, but rather, when is the best time?

I am giddy. For five years, I have had no other plan than to get there and stay forever. Relationships ended over this city. I could not get married if that meant giving up on this place, though I never knew if I was actually going to make it. Now, I am thinking timelines, visas, preparation, language, literature.

I had no idea the L-RD was this good. I had no idea that in telling to Go he was giving me tools for the thing I have prayed for more than anything else. (Lord, Give me Paris). I had no idea that he could lead me so perfectly. I thought he forgot.

So, here is my repentance: I am thankful for New York City. I am thankful for seasons of waiting. I am thankful for here. I am thankful, even, for college.

And now, as I am still waiting and praying and thinking in timelines rather than in future maybes, I feel like Mary, treasuring all of these things in my heart.

Jeremiah 6:16

This is what the LORD says: "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.

Psalm 116:7

Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you.

Father

"I imagined that the right name might be Father, and I imagined all that that name would imply: the love, the compassion, the taking offense, the disappointment, the anger, the bearing of wounds, the weeping of tears, the forgiveness, the suffering unto death. If love could force my own thoughts over the edge of the world and out of time, then could I not see how even divine omnipotence might by the force of its love be swayed down into the world? Could I not see how it might, because it could know its creatures only by compassion, put on moral flesh, become a man, and walk among us, assume our nature and our fate, suffer our faults and our death?

"Yes. And I could imagine a Father who is yet like a mother hen spreading her wings before the storm or in the dusk before the dark night for the little ones of Port William to come in under, some of whom do, and some do not. I could imagine Port William riding its humble wave through time under the sky, its little flames of wakefulness lighting and going out, its lives passing through birth, pleasure, suffering, and death. I could imagine God looking down upon it, its lives living by His spirit, breathing by His breath, knowing by His light, but each life living also (inescapably) by its own will - His own body given to be broken."

-Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow

It seems often that there is too much to say and not enough words. Yesterday I went on a hike for several hours, then took a break to read Wendell Berry in an oak tree. These are the sorts of experiences I used to yearn for while living in New York City.

It is almost October. My heart tells me that it is so. Coming from Connecticut, I used to take the train home every autumn, waiting for what might be the peak weekend for foliage. Even just the drive home from the train station to my parent's house was magic - colours, colours. And then I'd be home. The night air would smell like fire and my home would be like cinnamon. I'd request a hike, just to see as many maple trees lit up as I could. This is what I miss about New England. We'd pick apples and drink cider and I think that perhaps there is no other place on earth of be than New England in Autumn.

California is changing too. I am learning to get over my belief that we are in a perpetual season of pleasant weather. I can smell it in the air, something has shifted. Harvest, too. We gather the grapes in the Autumn.

I find this to be a significant discovery, because I only know the L-RD as he relates to seasons. And, what is happening now? Roots are going deeper, though not in any specific place. I am still nomadic, my things are still stored in the trunk of my car. But, my heart is stretching. This season seems to be exactly what he told me he would give me. For that, I am thankful. For that, I trust him. Somethings are not so great, nightmares haunting me, and never knowing where I am sleeping next, or for how long.

But I am beginning to lose my fear.

I wonder how it is I came here. We didn't plan it or pick it out. We were just sitting on his couch one day and I saw a picture and then I felt at home. I do not know how often G-D works in my decisions, but in this one I can only see his hand in it after the fact. And, my retrospect is how I know to trust him. How good, how good.

In the spirit of Autumn I have begun to ask him what needs to be sacrificed. What can I give up? What can I burry? How can I be more free? He must become greater, I must become less. I need a bigger heart.

e.e. cummings

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be—
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird

sing terribly afar in the lost lands.