We found a poem written by my great great grandfather, Adoniram Judson Holt, for the year 1922. After reading it, my teary eyes saw my life flash before them. It's funny how from the eve of 1922 to eve 2012, we still wish for the same things for our friends and for ourselves. I hope this finds you well.
Again I am sending my greeting,
To the friends who have brightened my way;
Who along with the years that are fleeting,
Unselfishly have been repeating,
Their kindness, despite my depleting;
Thus sweetly extending my stay.
This world would be dreary and cheerless
Were it not for the friends who abide,
When dangers impending, are fearless,
When sorrows assail, are not tearless,
When needed are present and peerless,
Who have proven both truly and tried.
What a comfort to have a great Brother,
Who while Savior and Kind, is our Friend,
When trials assail, will ever prevail,
When others deride will ever abide,
More constant than even a mother,
Our Advocate unto the end.
So over the year that is ending,
And across the days coming to me,
A heart-throb of love I am sending,
And praying for mercies unending,
God's grace all-sufficient defending
'Till sunset shall smile upon thee.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Advent Thoughts--Converting a Scrooge, one Day at a Time
I'm working my way through an Advent devotional, designed to stop and make me think about all the aspects of Advent that I normally miss. I've spent so long being a scrooge against the commercialization of Christmas, that I missed celebrating the fullness of the true meaning of Christmas. While the devotional (www.youversion.com) is sometimes simple, it really has been an exercise in making me think about the true reason for the season, and the fact that yes, sometimes the Christmas season does start before the end of November...sigh. The first Sunday of Advent was the 27th of November this year. But Advent is celebrated in its entirety for a reason, so I'm trying to focus on that instead of the secular foolishness that makes me scroogy.
Below is an excerpt from one of my journalings for the devotional.
I think the thing to remember is our creation doesn't stop at our birth, or at the end of all of our growth spurts (when we look like adults). God forms us, in our mother's womb, before she even knew us (Psalm 139). He gives us a body, gives us a life, and then ushers us through it, giving us blessings and hardships along the way. Through our life experiences, he continues to create who we are in Him; that is, if we surrender to him and let him work in us. God's salvation didn't come at the birth of Jesus. His perfect plan was only made complete upon the sacrifice of his Son. The Advent season is about celebrating the coming of the Savior, but not the saving of the people. The Advent season is about the beginning of our salvation, but not the completion. Just like we must continually be tweaked and shaped and touched up to really become the men and women of God, so did Jesus, until he had completed the work God laid out for him. It wasn't until he was resurrected from the dead that our salvation was created, and it isn't until the day we see that Savior, really, that we are fully created to be who God intended.
Below is an excerpt from one of my journalings for the devotional.
I think the thing to remember is our creation doesn't stop at our birth, or at the end of all of our growth spurts (when we look like adults). God forms us, in our mother's womb, before she even knew us (Psalm 139). He gives us a body, gives us a life, and then ushers us through it, giving us blessings and hardships along the way. Through our life experiences, he continues to create who we are in Him; that is, if we surrender to him and let him work in us. God's salvation didn't come at the birth of Jesus. His perfect plan was only made complete upon the sacrifice of his Son. The Advent season is about celebrating the coming of the Savior, but not the saving of the people. The Advent season is about the beginning of our salvation, but not the completion. Just like we must continually be tweaked and shaped and touched up to really become the men and women of God, so did Jesus, until he had completed the work God laid out for him. It wasn't until he was resurrected from the dead that our salvation was created, and it isn't until the day we see that Savior, really, that we are fully created to be who God intended.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Turbulence: a Hindrance or a Necessity?
It's been a while since I've blogged. It wasn't intentional to start something and not finish it...or not keep up with it, but apparently that's how my life works sometimes. Right now I'm looking out of my stale apartment's windows, staring at a very gray, windy, rainy, miserable day. Funny how the weather reflects our moods so often.
Or is it the other way around?
The turbulent winds outside mirror the turbulent thoughts in my head. No, I'm not rainy or teary, but the finals A.D.D. is definitely kicking in, with thoughts and emotions racing around, making the windows of my soul whistle, like the wind outside does to 202's.
Why is it that in the moments you need to focus most, the wind picks up? It's a peculiar phenomenon, sparked by the turbulent powers of the world, this I know. I would have hoped by now that I would be impervious to these powers, or at least wind-proof. Alas, the whipping wind always finds the cracks, the chinks, the loose seals. It finds the places you haven't locked up tight, the places you're still vulnerable.
Vulnerable. What a scary word. Dictionary.com says it means:
1. Capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt, as by a weapon.
2. Open to moral attack, criticism, temptation, etc.
3. (Of a place) open to assault; difficult to defend.
It's formed from the Latin words that mean "to wound" and "-ble." Par for the course, since we spend our entire lives trying to lock up tight--keep every breeze out--become an impenetrable fortress--nothing gets through to hurt me. Funny how it doesn't work.
...such is the human condition...
We can strive and rant and rail and rage against the world, the wind, the sun and the rain, and yet...we still find ourselves with wind-chills down our backs at the most inconvenient of times. Seems pretty futile, if you ask me.
I look out the window again just now, and it's sunny. The sun has broken through those gray clouds, kissing the autumn-dead leaves, making them look copper, not dead and brittle as they did five minutes ago.
To be wind-proof, you really need to be weather-proof. To be weather proof, you need to live underground, in a cement bunker. The problem with living in a cement bunker is you can't see the copper, sun-kissed leaves that come with the poignant beauty of a turbulent autumn day. The problem with a cement bunker, is you don't see the jewel-like rain drops trapped on a window screen, you don't see the blue stripes in the sky, you don't hear the power of the wind ripping through those copper leaves.
Is it the same with our own bodily bunker? The world tells us to lock ourselves up tight: don't let anyone or anything in without your permission, without you opening that cement bunker of a heart. Is that really what I want? Do I want to be life-proof? Some days, when the wind is whipping, the leaves are brittle, the sky is dark, and my mood mirrors it all, yes, I do want to be life-proof. But it never fails that something, a little ray of sunshine, a little stripe of blue, a glint of copper, a jeweled raindrop is given to me by the Ultimate Bunker. I wouldn't have noticed all those little beauties, had it not been for the miserably gray weather from earlier. But...now it is gray again, windy and wicked. Again, my windows are vulnerable to the sharp winds. Seems like we'll never win: cement and life-proof, or glass and vulnerable. One ensures protection from everything, the other offers the chance of seeing beauty, even if it only one glimpse at a time.
Conundrum. It's quite the catch-22, it seems. We each have a decision to make: are we going to be solid, cemented, impenetrable fortresses, or are we going to have with drafty windows that are bejeweled with raindrops? If I'd asked myself this question before now, I would have quickly answered "impenetrable" without a second thought. Now, I would argue that I wouldn't have really had a first thought then either. Now, I'd choose the drafty windows. How do you know you're alive if you can't feel that wind leaking in to your home? I'll take the gray days, the racing thoughts, the A.D.D., the icy wind, if it means I can have the beautiful, crunchy copper, the brilliant blue stripes, and the roaring power of the wind.
Vulnerability isn't just about being available for hurt or discomfort or frustration. It's about being available for those glances of beauty and moments of triumph and those hidden blessings that only the icy wind can bring.
Or is it the other way around?
The turbulent winds outside mirror the turbulent thoughts in my head. No, I'm not rainy or teary, but the finals A.D.D. is definitely kicking in, with thoughts and emotions racing around, making the windows of my soul whistle, like the wind outside does to 202's.
Why is it that in the moments you need to focus most, the wind picks up? It's a peculiar phenomenon, sparked by the turbulent powers of the world, this I know. I would have hoped by now that I would be impervious to these powers, or at least wind-proof. Alas, the whipping wind always finds the cracks, the chinks, the loose seals. It finds the places you haven't locked up tight, the places you're still vulnerable.
Vulnerable. What a scary word. Dictionary.com says it means:
1. Capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt, as by a weapon.
2. Open to moral attack, criticism, temptation, etc.
3. (Of a place) open to assault; difficult to defend.
It's formed from the Latin words that mean "to wound" and "-ble." Par for the course, since we spend our entire lives trying to lock up tight--keep every breeze out--become an impenetrable fortress--nothing gets through to hurt me. Funny how it doesn't work.
...such is the human condition...
We can strive and rant and rail and rage against the world, the wind, the sun and the rain, and yet...we still find ourselves with wind-chills down our backs at the most inconvenient of times. Seems pretty futile, if you ask me.
I look out the window again just now, and it's sunny. The sun has broken through those gray clouds, kissing the autumn-dead leaves, making them look copper, not dead and brittle as they did five minutes ago.
To be wind-proof, you really need to be weather-proof. To be weather proof, you need to live underground, in a cement bunker. The problem with living in a cement bunker is you can't see the copper, sun-kissed leaves that come with the poignant beauty of a turbulent autumn day. The problem with a cement bunker, is you don't see the jewel-like rain drops trapped on a window screen, you don't see the blue stripes in the sky, you don't hear the power of the wind ripping through those copper leaves.
Is it the same with our own bodily bunker? The world tells us to lock ourselves up tight: don't let anyone or anything in without your permission, without you opening that cement bunker of a heart. Is that really what I want? Do I want to be life-proof? Some days, when the wind is whipping, the leaves are brittle, the sky is dark, and my mood mirrors it all, yes, I do want to be life-proof. But it never fails that something, a little ray of sunshine, a little stripe of blue, a glint of copper, a jeweled raindrop is given to me by the Ultimate Bunker. I wouldn't have noticed all those little beauties, had it not been for the miserably gray weather from earlier. But...now it is gray again, windy and wicked. Again, my windows are vulnerable to the sharp winds. Seems like we'll never win: cement and life-proof, or glass and vulnerable. One ensures protection from everything, the other offers the chance of seeing beauty, even if it only one glimpse at a time.
Conundrum. It's quite the catch-22, it seems. We each have a decision to make: are we going to be solid, cemented, impenetrable fortresses, or are we going to have with drafty windows that are bejeweled with raindrops? If I'd asked myself this question before now, I would have quickly answered "impenetrable" without a second thought. Now, I would argue that I wouldn't have really had a first thought then either. Now, I'd choose the drafty windows. How do you know you're alive if you can't feel that wind leaking in to your home? I'll take the gray days, the racing thoughts, the A.D.D., the icy wind, if it means I can have the beautiful, crunchy copper, the brilliant blue stripes, and the roaring power of the wind.
Vulnerability isn't just about being available for hurt or discomfort or frustration. It's about being available for those glances of beauty and moments of triumph and those hidden blessings that only the icy wind can bring.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
The End is the Beginning
As a senior, I rule the school. I’ve conquered freshman stupidity, sophomoric attitude, junior slump and the summers in between with no major incident. I have arrived. The end is almost in sight. For some, that's a sad thing--they can't bear to leave our beloved Athens. For me, it's kind of exciting...A new place to explore and call home!
But I can’t shake the feeling that this year is very reminiscent of freshman year. Sure, as seniors we’re smarter, better adjusted, and older, but I’d venture to say that seniors cut loose just as much as freshies--we just do it legally ;)
No, it’s not the cliche “I feel young again,” because typical seniors in college aren’t exactly old...it’s more of a feeling of everything coming full circle. Seniors are on the brink of change, about to venture out of the fun, exciting microcosm of Athens (or another college town) and into the grind.
Because of this, we slam as much as possible into our days--and nights--to stuff our memories with time in DT Athens, football weekends, camping excursions, frisbee Fridays, too frat to care Tuesdays, house parties, and more...So we can say, one day, in truth that college was the most fun time in our life. In reality, Freshman and Senior years are the best times in our lives, sophomore and junior years we just trudge through to get here.
Moreover...allow me to wax philosophical for a moment: perhaps Senior year is reminiscent of freshman year because we spend so much time reminiscing on that time and (hopefully) considering how far we’ve come.
Yes, self reflection is egocentric, too pensive, and sometimes misty-eyed.
But it has occurred to me that if you have no period of self reflection on your life and your past then you have not solidified within your attitudes and values the lessons you’ve learned.
Without at time of self reflection to think and talk about how much you’ve grown, you cannot actually grow. You must be able to objectively examine your experience, mistakes, and adventures and pick out things that have made you who you are as a big, bad senior. Without these realizations, you’ll do the big bad senior thing, but you’ll just be a big old freshman at heart.
If you don’t realize what lessons you’ve learned, it never becomes a part of who you are. Why? Because if you can’t think or talk about the lessons you’ve learned and how they've changed you...then you haven’t learned them.
But I can’t shake the feeling that this year is very reminiscent of freshman year. Sure, as seniors we’re smarter, better adjusted, and older, but I’d venture to say that seniors cut loose just as much as freshies--we just do it legally ;)
No, it’s not the cliche “I feel young again,” because typical seniors in college aren’t exactly old...it’s more of a feeling of everything coming full circle. Seniors are on the brink of change, about to venture out of the fun, exciting microcosm of Athens (or another college town) and into the grind.
Because of this, we slam as much as possible into our days--and nights--to stuff our memories with time in DT Athens, football weekends, camping excursions, frisbee Fridays, too frat to care Tuesdays, house parties, and more...So we can say, one day, in truth that college was the most fun time in our life. In reality, Freshman and Senior years are the best times in our lives, sophomore and junior years we just trudge through to get here.
Moreover...allow me to wax philosophical for a moment: perhaps Senior year is reminiscent of freshman year because we spend so much time reminiscing on that time and (hopefully) considering how far we’ve come.
Yes, self reflection is egocentric, too pensive, and sometimes misty-eyed.
But it has occurred to me that if you have no period of self reflection on your life and your past then you have not solidified within your attitudes and values the lessons you’ve learned.
Without at time of self reflection to think and talk about how much you’ve grown, you cannot actually grow. You must be able to objectively examine your experience, mistakes, and adventures and pick out things that have made you who you are as a big, bad senior. Without these realizations, you’ll do the big bad senior thing, but you’ll just be a big old freshman at heart.
If you don’t realize what lessons you’ve learned, it never becomes a part of who you are. Why? Because if you can’t think or talk about the lessons you’ve learned and how they've changed you...then you haven’t learned them.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Trying my hand at Psalm writing
1Praise the LORD,
Maker of the Universe, defender of his creations.
2Praise the LORD, who
created
the birds, the mice, the moss, the flowers;
who created the
oceans, the mountains, the tigers, the elephants.
3Praise the LORD,
whose power and whose creations are never ending.
4The birds of the sky have none of the same feathers.
The fish of the seas have none of the same scales.
5No two striped, spotted, splotched or patterned beasts are
the same.
No two men are alike, from
fingerprints to
eyelashes, they are different.
6Each creation on this earth has a place, has a purpose,
has
a father.
7Praise the LORD, O
the Earth.
Praise the LORD.
8You brought each creature into this world.
You provide each hair, feather, and scale.
9You feed all living things with air, minerals, water,
plants, and meat.
You give everything life.
10You know each bird
of paradise by name.
You recognize each mountain as your own.
11You know when the
platypus and the echidna lay their eggs
and
give their milk.
You cool the desert creatures by night,
and
enlighten them by day.
12You buoy the sea
otters as they eat.
You hold up the sequoias and the redwoods,
like
your cedars of Lebanon.
13You give the
laughter to the streams and the hyenas.
14You hold the koalas
as they slumber, and you hold the
colugos
and squirrels as they fly.
15You are the reason
the wolves howl and the auroras dance.
16Praise the LORD, O
the Earth!
Praise the LORD of life!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Procrastination: aka Stopping to Smell the Roses
Why is it that only when you are swamped with work do you find time to stop and smell the roses...or as it is in this case...stop and write a blog post? Don't I have more important things to do right now? Undoubtedly, yes, I do. Don't I have deadlines coming up of both the school-imposed and self-imposed varieties? Yes. So what's the deal? Why am I "wasting my time" writing about seemingly unimportant things?
Maybe that's why I'm writing: because I don't know the answer to that question, and I'm not entirely convinced this is an unimportant writing.
I think the better question here is: why do I not always make time to stop and smell the roses? We just returned from a retreat to Emily's (my best friend/sister/heterosexual life mate) family farm in Alabama this weekend, where we had mandatory "manna before manna" every morning...requiring us to get up, take a walk, get into the spiritual manna before we were allowed breakfast. I cannot begin to describe how calming it is to watch the mist rise over rolling hills, watch the sun burn through the night's leftover haze, listen to the birds awaken and start singing praises, listen to the soft crunch of grass and pine needles under my feet, and breathe in the beautiful morning air. And I'm not even a morning person...
We were forced to stop and smell the roses...or the grass, as it were...each morning this weekend, and yet when we came back here, I immediately fell willingly back into the grind of packing every moment with schoolwork or meaningless facebooking! (And yes, spell check, facebooking is a verb...time for you to play catch-up.) Do I have to flee the city and stay in an old farmhouse to relish waking up with the sun every morning? Do I have to abandon my schoolwork to take the time to take a walk? Sure, I walk every morning...from my parking deck, across two streets, down several sidewalks, and up cement stairs into my building, where I happily (or unhappily...depending on the day) remain. But I'm always rushing, always thinking of what car might hit me as I jaywalk, struggling to remember which level of the deck my car is on, where my keys are, and always always making sure I don't spill my morning coffee.
Not exactly smelling the roses, or crape myrtles lining the sidewalks.
I guess I just needed to sort out what it is that is so refreshing about a morning walk, a calm, quiet time before the world bustles awake...It's that sense of quiet companionship that I think all of us crave in one form or another. For some, a book and a cup of tea is perfect; for others, it's a dog; for more it's a date with someone special; for me, it's a walk alone in Creation with my Creator.
So here's the fun part: I want to see if you'll do this with me: I dare you to wake up before you have to and talk a walk, around your apartment complex, down your street, into a forest, wherever you are. If you're not so sure about the Creator bit, that's fine, just take the time to appreciate the morning. And I ask you to dare me to do the same. This means that I'll have to go to bed earlier than normal if I'm to walk before my 8am. Bad dare on my part? Somehow I still don't think so.
Maybe it's my procrastinator's spirit coming out, but I wish I took the time to stop and smell the proverbial roses more often than I do...because, really, they smell pretty dern good.
Maybe that's why I'm writing: because I don't know the answer to that question, and I'm not entirely convinced this is an unimportant writing.
I think the better question here is: why do I not always make time to stop and smell the roses? We just returned from a retreat to Emily's (my best friend/sister/heterosexual life mate) family farm in Alabama this weekend, where we had mandatory "manna before manna" every morning...requiring us to get up, take a walk, get into the spiritual manna before we were allowed breakfast. I cannot begin to describe how calming it is to watch the mist rise over rolling hills, watch the sun burn through the night's leftover haze, listen to the birds awaken and start singing praises, listen to the soft crunch of grass and pine needles under my feet, and breathe in the beautiful morning air. And I'm not even a morning person...
We were forced to stop and smell the roses...or the grass, as it were...each morning this weekend, and yet when we came back here, I immediately fell willingly back into the grind of packing every moment with schoolwork or meaningless facebooking! (And yes, spell check, facebooking is a verb...time for you to play catch-up.) Do I have to flee the city and stay in an old farmhouse to relish waking up with the sun every morning? Do I have to abandon my schoolwork to take the time to take a walk? Sure, I walk every morning...from my parking deck, across two streets, down several sidewalks, and up cement stairs into my building, where I happily (or unhappily...depending on the day) remain. But I'm always rushing, always thinking of what car might hit me as I jaywalk, struggling to remember which level of the deck my car is on, where my keys are, and always always making sure I don't spill my morning coffee.
Not exactly smelling the roses, or crape myrtles lining the sidewalks.
I guess I just needed to sort out what it is that is so refreshing about a morning walk, a calm, quiet time before the world bustles awake...It's that sense of quiet companionship that I think all of us crave in one form or another. For some, a book and a cup of tea is perfect; for others, it's a dog; for more it's a date with someone special; for me, it's a walk alone in Creation with my Creator.
So here's the fun part: I want to see if you'll do this with me: I dare you to wake up before you have to and talk a walk, around your apartment complex, down your street, into a forest, wherever you are. If you're not so sure about the Creator bit, that's fine, just take the time to appreciate the morning. And I ask you to dare me to do the same. This means that I'll have to go to bed earlier than normal if I'm to walk before my 8am. Bad dare on my part? Somehow I still don't think so.
Maybe it's my procrastinator's spirit coming out, but I wish I took the time to stop and smell the proverbial roses more often than I do...because, really, they smell pretty dern good.
Friday, September 2, 2011
The Naturalist
I learned something cool today! Well, I learn something cool a lot of days, and I learn lots of cool things every day. But anyways, during my high-speed devotional for the day, while my computer was booting up so I could finish my homework...I read 1 Kings 4-5. Once I'd waded through all the "he appointed all these people to do one set of things and he appointed this set of people to do another set of things," I got to the coolest lines of the night: in chapter 4: 29- 34: "God gave Solomon wisdom and very great insight, and a breadth of understanding as measureless as the sand on the seashore. Solomon's wisdom was greater than the wisdom of all the men of the East, and greater than all the wisdom of Egypt. He was wiser than any other man...And his fame spread to all the surrounding nations. He spoke three thousand proverbs and his songs numbered a thousand and five. He described plant life, from the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop that grows out of the walls. He also taught about animals and birds, reptiles and fish. Men of all nations came to listen to Solomon's wisdom, sent by all the kings of the world, who had heard of his wisdom."
In case you missed that...Solomon, the Wise King, son of David, was a naturalist. He was gifted with insight into the natural world by the God of Creation. How AWESOME!
The God. Of the Universe. The One that created all this stuff. Is telling. Solomon. About how He did it. WHAT?
Solomon, did you write this stuff down? Because I'm praying you did, I'm praying that your writings are in some ancient library somewhere, that they didn't get burned with the library of Alexandria. I know this is totally a thin limb I'm standing on...but from a purely scientific standpoint....This is a discovery that would change everything we know now. It would change our entire timeline of scientific discovery.
Juss' sayin'.
In case you missed that...Solomon, the Wise King, son of David, was a naturalist. He was gifted with insight into the natural world by the God of Creation. How AWESOME!
The God. Of the Universe. The One that created all this stuff. Is telling. Solomon. About how He did it. WHAT?
Solomon, did you write this stuff down? Because I'm praying you did, I'm praying that your writings are in some ancient library somewhere, that they didn't get burned with the library of Alexandria. I know this is totally a thin limb I'm standing on...but from a purely scientific standpoint....This is a discovery that would change everything we know now. It would change our entire timeline of scientific discovery.
Juss' sayin'.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)