to be an adjective

  xxx

they wanted, as we say, to ‘call their souls their own.’ but that means to live a lie, for our souls are not, in fact, our own. they wanted some corner in the universe of which they could say to God, ‘this is our business, not yours.’ but there is no such corner. they wanted to be nouns, but they were, and eternally must be, mere adjectives.

 -c.s. lewis, the problem of pain

 

as poets like page breaks that feel like deep breaths, so a creative writer loves adjectives. my descriptor of choice is lovely. my best friend in middle school loved the word crisp. there are just some words that, when added to a noun, enhance tremendously. they add depth, meaning and image.

but as any elementary school teacher will sweetly inform you, adjectives that stand alone are meaningless. pretty. small. big. without a subject, they lose their form and become half-shaped. like the victorian house on the edge of our road, standing tall against the heavens, with cracking paint and loose shutters. almost perfect. almost special, but not quite whole.

i am not the sun. but there are summer days when the sunshine reflects off my cheeks. my eyelids. my nose. and i feel it and radiate with it. likewise, i want to stand so close to the Son that i am a mere reflection of His glory. and brightness.

in my Christian walk, it is only an adjective i aspire to be. but so often, so incredibly, unknowingly and sometimes purposefully, often, i become the noun. my little world revolves around the subject of Me. and yes, Christ is a part of it. He is present and there and totally within reach, but only to support my goals and end desires. in effect, an adjective to my noun.

but if we switch. if we just swap places, what a beautiful, whole, complex sentence we would be! and the sentences of my peers, my family, my friends and all the population would swarm together to create a beautiful story. the most beautiful one in history. in His story.

my own little world

currently listening to this song.

the lyrics get me every time, especially these:

Father, break my  heart for what breaks Yours
give me open hands and open doors
put Your light in my eyes and let me see
that my own little world is not about me

xxx

i want to remember these words. more than as lyrics. more than as rhymes. as a mantra that i can chant silently and actually live. because it's so hard to. live unselfishly, that is.

to not wait for opportunity to knock, but to walk up to the door, break it down, and meet opportunity face to face. to minister, share and love on people, because that's what we're called to do. to listen and fellowship and give.

because if i wait until i have "open hands" chances are i'll always have a tightly bundled fist. the hard part is opening up my own hand, not waiting on others to reach out to me in need.

the challenge is to live like our Father in a world that tries to inundate with the idea of self. to maintain that root, that special tie, to the heavens when walking on the pavement.

one of my favorite Christian t-shirts says "be ye fishers of men...you catch them, He'll clean them."

i'm casting my net today. and slowly, fearfully, but faithfully, leaving the shore.

prayers for nanno

my sweet grandfather, known in my family affectionately as "nanno," is going to the doctor twice tomorrow (wednesday, jan. 26) for some tests--once to the heart doctor and once to the gastroenterologist {digestive health}. the heart visit is just a check-up, but the other is not routine, and recent lower body pain has caused the appointment.

a little background on nanno:

• his name is sam.
• he turned 90 in october 2010. 
• he completes an entire newspaper crossword puzzle every single day.
• he is a banagrams champ.
• since he lost my grandma in 2003, he still talks to her in the mornings and evenings, at the foot of his bed in prayer, in the darkness of their bedroom. he's kept her sewing basket, hand lotion, and hairbrush beside her chair. they would have been married 65 years this year.
• he wears the most dapper berets and cardigans i've ever seen. robert wanted a sweater like him so bad, and dropped so many hints last year, that he was gifted with five cardigans in december. we called it a "cardigan christmas."
• he never asks for anything or complains, so any pain he mentions is serious.
• he is precious beyond words.

every tuesday, thursday and saturday, my family eats supper with nanno. before we eat, we hold hands around the table and thank the Lord for our blessings. 

so friends, i have an idea. a way to join hands, collectively across the blogosphere and pray, send up happy thoughts and well wishes, and just be united, at the same time. to help nanno get through his trial. if you pray, please do this with me. if not, is simply think of nanno, a stranger though he is to you, and send some positive vibes and happy thoughts his way.

if you'll join me, i'd like to pray specifically for his 10:00 a.m. appointment with the gastroenterologist. the blogging world is diverse and scattered, so for this to work, we have to think about several time zones. i think it would be so beautiful to bathe him in prayer at exactly the same time. complete strangers lifting him up at the exact moment he walks through those doctor doors. 

here's a little timetable. nanno's appointment is wednesday, at 10:00 a.m. EST. i am posting this on the this on tuesday evening because some of the times convert to quite early in the morning. i could not find a simple-to-use 24 time zone converter, but if your time zone is not on this chart, please go here for a world clock.

here are the times that correlate with 10 a.m. EST on wednesday:

 

prayer time zone chart

whether you're lying on your back in the warmth of your bed, sitting in a conference room, or taking your children to school, when it's your time, if you are willing, i'd so appreciate the prayers.

thank you. from the bottom of my heart, and the hearts of my family, thank you.

and the songbirds keep singing like they know the score

xxxxxx

this summer, i did not need an early alarm.

every day, at 6:30 in the morning, like clockwork. i was sweetly, softly, pulled awake.


by a singsong. a melody unlike any other. a little falsetto followed by a short lived baritone. a songbird.


our bed is right beside a window. a big, old window that faces a meadow and a clothesline. blueberry bushes and apple trees.


and when the weather was just warm enough, little birds. i kept the blinds closed to keep out the blinding sun, so i never saw firsthand this delightful alternative to my timex, but it knew exactly, precisely, how much time i would need to wake up, prepare myself for the day, and head out in my honda in time for work.


i named him roger. i presumed him to be male, but in reality, it might have been a lovely lady bird.


yesterday morning, with  hours left to sleep before church, my heating pad on a delicious full blast, and pablo curled at my toes, i heard a familiar, albeit all but forgotten chorus.


roger was back. the brief reprieve of warmth that came with the weekend was enough to draw him out of winter hiding and back to my windowsill.


they're calling for more snow in north carolina this weekend, and inevitably, roger will return to where he came from. storing up those sweet vibratos for springtime.


but at 6:30 on a sunday morning, i was reminded.


that every day brings new surprises. new beginnings. new blessings.


and yes, 


new chances to puff up our chests, look toward the heavens, and sing a song of joy toward a Creator who listens, and who always knew we'd come back. no matter how long we've been away.

a mustard seed

source

 "I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." -Matthew 17:20

From behind my desk, I watched the clock strike 6:30 p.m. My boss and I were some of the only employees left in the building. We had been working painstakingly since 8 a.m. on a big proposal that, if won, could mean great things for our company. For more than 10 hours, we had hole punched, typed, edited and formatted until the project was complete. The only problem? We were in North Carolina and it had to arrive in Georgia by the next afternoon. We had to deliver it via FedEx. In our area, the last delivery time is typically no later than 6:30 p.m.

We browsed the Internet until we found a self-serve drop box nearby that was open until 7:00. We had less than half an hour. My boss hurriedly scribbled the address on a sticky note. In my haste to get out the door, it fell to the floor and was locked behind me. "Lewis!" I yelled across the parking lot. "What was the address again?" He hesitated for a moment, then yelled back "7027 Albert Pick Road!" With a broken GPS and a terrible sense of direction, I headed toward where I thought the road was. As I drove, I began to pray, Lord I'm not sure where I'm going. This is all riding on me now. Please help me find this place.

To my great surprise, I found the road on my first try. However, my satisfaction quickly dwindled when I looked around me. The road was home to a huge business park. Dozens of office buildings lined its side streets, each with its address hidden behind towering shade trees. The place was empty, as most of its businesses shut down at 5:00. Dodging roundabouts and merging lanes, I entered from the east side. Almost immediately, I found Building 7027. I had less than 10 minutes to go but was feeling pretty confident. Then, I circled the building five times. No drop box in sight.

I swerved in the vacant parking lot and desperately ran up to the door. Locked and dark inside. With less than five minutes to go, I hopped in my car and started the long, sad process of giving up. I searched on my phone for other local FedEx offices, telling myself that this was hopeless. I prayed again. Lord. We have worked so hard on this. Please help me find the drop box! All of a sudden, I looked up. A light went on in a building across the park. A completely random, unmarked building. It was the only lighted building as far as I could see. I thought to myself, if there are lights on, maybe there will be someone in there who can point in the right direction. Immediately, I drove over, ran up to the front door, package in tow, and found that it opened into a vast lobby with nothing but elevators on both sides.

One woman was exiting the lobby from the other side. "Excuse me!" I yelled, but she walked out the door without stopping. Confused and lost, I started to walk back to my car when something caught my eye. There was a little room off to the right, no larger than an office cubicle. As I entered it, my heart leapt. There, nestled in the tiniest of spaces, was the drop box, with a bold, beautiful sign that said "Today's Delivery has NOT Occurred Yet." Tears of relief and thanksgiving welled up in my eyes.


The proposal was successfully delivered that afternoon. I quickly put it in the box and slammed the lid, but not before placing my shaking hand on the cool metal and saying a prayer of gratitude to the Great Deliverer Himself.
 -----
faith comes in all forms and is a pivotal part of many religions. for me, it is belief in things unseen and a hope for my future. it doesn't always come in such a grand way as i experienced that day. sometimes it's a shout, yes. but most of the time, it's simply a whisper. a soft echoing into my soul that speaks peace to my being. it comes in the kitchen, when i'm preparing supper after a long day. in the bedroom, when i'm on my knees in prayer late at night. in the conference room, as my shaking hands grasp presentation papers. and through it, i feel Christ assure me. lead me.


this was a story about faith. an aha moment in my spiritual walk. a tangible, loud confirmation of the power of prayer. but more often than not, faith is a quiet space. it is finding the power to believe in those moments between the ahas,  in the deep, dark crevices of life and the lowest of devastating wells, that faith truly finds its foothold, and its power to move mountains. and i'm so thankful it does. because sometimes, that's all i can muster. the faith of a mustard seed. but sometimes, that's all it takes.