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Posts Tagged ‘Isaiah’

grieving angel“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
    neither are your ways my ways,”
    declares the Lord.
“As the heavens are higher than the earth,
    so are my ways higher than your ways
    and my thoughts than your thoughts.” [Isaiah 55:8-9]

Here’s the difference. When you and I “think,” it’s just an opinion or point of view or perhaps a bit of problem solving. When God thinks, things come into being or mountains move. The answer to the question, “what is God thinking” is incomprehensible to humans. Maybe, “what are You making?” would be better. I get some solace from my faith in a blueprint. Some.

We’ve gotten too casual with God. Perhaps it’s part of the new informal culture where jeans are always acceptable and language has become various letters of the alphabet. YKWIM? We want the “thumbs up” Jesus. We don’t want to be afraid of God so we make God cozy and grandfatherly.

And although a relationship with God can be warm and intimate and full of mercy, there is a point when God basically says, “because I said so.” And this moment needs to be accepted with the same surrender as “cootchy, cootchy, coo.” A creator has the ability and the right to destroy or alter or remake the object. “But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? “Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’”Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for special purposes and some for common use?”[Romans 9:20]

Lately, some terribly difficult circumstances have dropped into the lives of my colleagues and friends: several people have been diagnosed with cancer or had serious surgeries, a couple of people have been on dialysis for over a year, and now a 3 1/2 year old child died just three days after being diagnosed with T-Cell leukemia.The child’s death has been the most difficult of all.

It’s hard to avoid the gripe, “what is God thinking?” Is there a satisfactory answer in my world? Not really.

I understand intellectually. Each journey is different. And although I have come to a peace about my friend Mary dying from pancreatic cancer and how I admire her as she embraces this new path in her life odyssey, the bottom drops out of my confidence, when it’s a child. The grief is heavy, the weight of a family’s loss is palpable.

It’s not the first time I’ve witnessed the agony. Some years ago, I went to a viewing of a baby who had died of SIDS. The mother was so distraught that she pulled the lifeless, embalmed child from the coffin and carried her around the room of the funeral chapel. She was inconsolable. And there was nothing to say.

Every step of faith in the face of pain and trauma and sorrow, is an excursion into the mind of Christ, a dance with the Holy Spirit, a siege at the entrance of the “holy of holies.” But the answer is always the same, “God’s thoughts are not my thoughts, God’s ways are not my ways.”

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waterCome, all you who are thirsty,
    come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
    come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
    without money and without cost. [Isaiah 55:1]

It’s really rare that I experience true thirst, perhaps on those rare occasions when I work out or I am outside on a very hot day, but really, water is usually at arm’s length. I live in a society where water is so plentiful (for now), that I can choose other things to quench my thirst, like tea or soda or beer. It’s not like I have to have water.

But if I lived in a parched land, in a desert, I would have a different attitude toward water, I’m sure of it. If I really experienced a drought in my body that only water could refill, I would not be so cavalier about this drink, this fluid that is actually the bulk of my physical being (90%).

That is the kind of desire that would change my faith walk with God. That kind of need and craving for the things of God, for the Presence of the Holy Spirit, for the quenching power that only God can give. If I wanted God the way a truly thirsty person wants water, then I would have fullness. I would recognize God more clearly; I would hear God’s voice; I would “feel” God.

Truly, I believe it.

Instead, I continue in this rather off-hand existence with God. It’s simply not intentional in my surrender.

Don’t misunderstand me. I get thirsty for God. And I drink and I am, for that time, aware of God’s Presence and amazed by the wonder. But then, I grow complacent and dilute the drink. Funny, right? The idea of diluting “water” with other things? But it is so.

Lord, I want to drink of you this day.

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Pay Attention

desert-streamSee, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. [Isaiah 43:19]
First, while visiting my friend, Mary, who has pancreatic cancer, she introduced me to a wonderful song called, “Pay Attention” by the Miserable Offenders (funny name for a group). Then last week, I went to a Chamber luncheon, I ran into our Chief of Police and her parting words to me were the same, “Pay attention.” For the Chief, the message was about danger in our midst, for my friend the message was awareness and sensitivity to the wonder of life (because life is fleeting).
Now, in this scripture passage, I hear the same message again, “do you not perceive it?” Pay attention!
You see, God is doing that “new thing” every day. All around me, there is something to see, to hear, to feel, to touch, to taste. Each day is a wonder. Each moment is a gift. Oh, I worry and kvetch without really looking, without understanding.
To trust God with my life, to surrender my will completely, then I must respond with a “yes” to every experience, both difficult and easy. Naturally, I’m speaking of circumstances that are outside of my control (that includes other people). Our children come to us in a variety of versions, some are smart and quick, others are quirky, while still others are broken. But each child is still a gift and part of my journey, part of whole. The weather, the illness, the accident, the villain, or the animal, whatever, I cannot know ahead of time their impacts on my life, but when those moments happen, can I embrace the pain and the sorrow, knowing them as part of the paradoxes of life?
And even when I do choose, when I do “control” the times and then, perhaps, suffer regret, isn’t it time to let go of those disappointments? After all, it’s done. The minutes are still passing. And the “new thing” or the “new way” is still to come, maybe like a flash flood in the desert.
It’s the fractured dreams that are often the hardest to release. Those dreams of childhood or even our early twenties, when we imagined our success and notoriety, our personal paparazzi, our brilliance. I know I focused more on the results and the fruit that could have been instead of the process, the gifts I had to give. And so I kept plowing the old field, not realizing and not noticing the field beyond, the path beside, the hanging vines.
But all that being said, I am paying attention now. Right now. In this moment, this day. I see.

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another-way“This is what the Lord says—he who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, who drew out the chariots and horses, the army and reinforcements together, and they lay there, never to rise again, extinguished, snuffed out like a wick . . . “ [Isaiah 43:16-17.

Whether you believe or not that God actually divided the Red Sea to allow the Israelites to walk through unharmed while destroying the Egyptian army that followed after them [Exodus 14], there is a message here for all of us.

It is God who makes the way in the midst of trials or darkness. It may not be the path we want to take; it may not be the most obvious path; it may feel dangerous. But God’s way is still the best way.

Of course, we can always argue with God if we disagree with the direction. But then, there are repercussions, a chain reaction if you will, when we choose another way. And, for a season, circumstances may seem dire. It’s important to see the situation for what it is. Change cannot happen without truth.

I wish I could figure these things out while they are happening instead of in hindsight. I look back, and say, “Oh, you meant for me to go that way!” Like Homer Simpson: “Doh!”

You see, because I am so friggin’ capable, I am quick to analyze the paths ahead and I often take the one that seems best to me (not necessarily best FOR me). And as I’m going along, I suddenly get this feeling,  this overwhelming sense that I have blown it, again. It is in this moment of recognition that I must stay for a season. In order to see clearly, I must live in it (not deny it). And then, God shows up. More than likely, I will never find my way back to the original way God intended, but another way is revealed. God is full of back doors. And I am grateful.

So, I just want to encourage others: even when we blow it, God doesn’t give up on us. There is no mistake or sin that God cannot rectify or redeem. I believe this wholeheartedly. I have to. Otherwise, life would indeed overwhelm me.

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time is now[If you truly fast . . . ] Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.

“If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.” [Isaiah 58:9-10]

Oh the promises God gives in so many different voices. I am slow. I am slow to respond with internal change.

I am reading a book by John Sarno, M.D. on healing back pain (and many other aches & pains) through a mind-body connection that we have lost. And in it, he says how slowly the subconscious responds to change. In another venue (not sure if it was a book, web site, or magazine article), I read about the difficulties that overweight people have in maintaining their weight loss and that the body, for many years even, wants to return to its former (heavier) state. It’s literally a battle within for the psyche to accept the “new you.” Or,  I think of more serious scenarios where abused and battered women stay in marriages and partnerships because it became the norm and a “new normal” hard to imagine.

These illustrations reveal tendencies in my personal spirit too. I have a comfort zone within which my spirit does not adapt out of easily. Our bodies, our minds, and our spirits experience a time of confusion when we try something new, when we step out of the familiar, when we dip our toes into unknown waters.

jumping inHow do you walk into the ocean? Do you run full tilt and jump headlong into the frigid waves, exulting in that blasting sensation? Or, are you like me, slowly wading in and letting each body part get used to the water beforslow ocean walke going the next step, the next depth. Only when the ocean takes charge and bursts over my plan do I give in and dunk in. But there are times when I don’t even get past my knees. Maybe the first steps are too cold or too rocky or too slimy and I turn back. I don’t give the ocean a chance to envelope me. I go back to the sand (and really how comfortable is that?).

There are four parts to a complete Lenten experience:  fasting (the change up), prayer (the conversation),generosity (reaching out to others), and confession (owning up to our mistakes). This is the perfect time to enter the ocean of God’s love, God’s invitation, Christ’s work, and the Holy Spirit’s waters. Whether slow or fast, the time is now.

I will never be one to jump in with full abandon. But I do commit to a slower journey. I choose it. I choose to work inward so that my outward self becomes less judgmental, more connected, and filled with the Light of Christ. I want my night to become like noonday. It’s a process. And like everyone else, it’s outside my comfort zone.

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Fasting

soul connectionIs not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? [Isaiah 58:6]

Fasting has been narrowed in recent years to being about the food and beverage consumption: no lunch or no sugar or no alcohol or no carbs (oops, that’s a diet option). And that’s the problem, we live in a dieting world where the giving up of one element or another is this short term option that will give us some relatively immediate results. But I am pretty sure that fasting for God is a different mindset. It’s not even intended that this “giving up” be over the long haul. Not really.

Just because Jesus fasted for forty days doesn’t mean we need to fast from food and drink for the same amount of time. Besides, unless we have the the other disciplines going hand in hand with the fasting, it will be a futile effort. Fasting, in and of itself, is not the point.

It’s the change-up. It’s doing life differently. It’s making room for something else. It’s intentionally making a sacrifice in order to intentionally choose time and energy for God.

I remember trying to explain this process to my kids when they were younger and it never really quite took hold. Generally, they concentrated on those food items they could tolerate being without: ice cream, soda, desserts, pizza (well, no, I don’t think they ever did give up eating pizza for Lent or any other time).

This year, I am tossing in a few sacrificial lambs like sodas and lattes and even Words with Friends, but my sense of them is different. These acts feel inconsequential in the face of what I want this time to be about: a centering inside time, a time to know prayer in a deeper way, an unearthing of my soul from the tangles of my busy life (this is my yoke referenced in Isaiah). Can I slow down enough to do it? Can I open the clock for meditation and silence?

When Jesus met the woman at the well, his disciples were out getting carry out. When they got back, they offered him his share but he didn’t need it. He was full from the discourse and connection of two souls.

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Fabric on Wood by Shellie

God is not a moving target. I may feel like it sometimes, but in my heart, I know, it’s not a God-problem, it’s a “me” problem. I am the one fluctuating between sensitivity to God’s presence and isolationism. Solution: grab hold when my pendulum swings in close.

Isaiah 55:6
Seek the LORD while he may be found;
call on him while he is near.

None of us can expect to be on a mountaintop for long; it’s not realistic. No matter how wondrous the climb or ecstatic the view, the air is thin, food and water must be found and consumed, shelter a necessity: life goes on. I can’t expect my times in pure God awareness to be sustained either. This is undoubtedly one of the reasons why ascetics, monks, or hermits disconnect themselves intentionally from the material world, it’s the only way to preserve that connection over a longer period. But even they must address their physical needs eventually. It’s part of being human.

That means, when I do have those moments of closeness to the Holy Spirit, when I do sense God nearby, I must cherish that time. I must be alert: awake! To chart those waters, I must look and listen (with inner eyes and ears). And remember!

This is why I journal, why I blog, to help me remember that moment, that revelation or epiphany. Otherwise, those understandings disappear into the ether of my subconscious. There, but not there, not easily accessible.

Mark the time. Mark the day. Catch the petals in the wind.

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