Monday, March 23, 2015

Almost here

The sun rose and was sitting perfectly in between the trees.

The trail was muddy and squishy.

The water was flowing with swiftness and the streaming under the bridges and over the ledges.

The sounds were pure.

The branches were climbing out of the tree trunks that held them with such deep roots.  Branches that seemed to be reaching as high as they could to catch some of the sun's glorious rays.

The evergreens will filled with a dew ever so slightly that caught the morning rays ever so gently holding a shine that lured your eye to their presence.

The spider's webs were sticky.

This morning it was as if everything was caught somewhere between almost here and not just yet.

It was as if there was a presence of new life was just waiting to rise up from the ground and spring forth across the branches.  It was as if every step that I took this morning revealed a world that was ready to explode with a sense of transformation....and yet it simply isn't time yet for that transformation to make it's presence fully known.

As much as I love the sun.
      As much as I love the warmth that the sun provides and reigns down upon me.
             As much as I love the vibrant colors that arise out of the flower beds it simply isn't time for it               to be in full bloom.

The growth of our trees, the colors of the flowers happens because of an intricate process. Life simply does not rise out of the deep, darkness of winter hibernation into a  full transformation.

We might want spring to be in full force but the reality is that if we force it come on our time and in our schedule we will miss the rising of something new.  We will take for granted the joy and glory of the sun shining down upon us.  We will walk through spider webs with irritation instead of a sense of awe at their handy-work.  We miss the creativity and handiwork of our Mighty Creator.  We will miss the unique ways of living at surround us daily.

The almost here and not yet of the morning helps me to stand in the depths of my own journey with Jesus.  There are so many times that I am sense that I am ready for a change....I am longing for a transformation...I want something new and different to find that I am almost there. I can see the end but I cannot get there from where I am currently standing.    The almost there and not yet are the moments were God is doing His most intricate work.

Shaving off pieces inside me that are splintered.

Sealing the hope and joy into the crevasses of my heart,soul and mind.

Sewing the ligaments of forgiveness and mercy throughout my being.

Today I am thankful to have the almost and not just yet.  I am willing to watch it all unfold so that I might stand in the beauty of the transformation that has been given. Where is the almost there and not just yet present in your life?  What can you sense God doing  within you?

The almost here and not just yet is a gift.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Holding Hands

Emma and I have this way of moving through crowds with ease, we simply lightly touch one another's hand reassuring us that we are both present in the movement that surrounds us.

Today as we walked the streets of our Nations Capital we were holding hands not because the crowd was thick or because the movement was so strong but simply as a way to connect.  Holding hands is our way of showing affection and our way of saying that we are present with one another in the moment.

This afternoon as we made our way through the Holocaust Museum I allowed her to make the journey at her own pace (which I knew would be faster than mine).  We had a specific area at the end of the journey that we knew we would be able to easily find one another and be reunited.

I was not concerned.

I was not bothered.

I was not afraid for her.

I was not fearful.

I was confident.

I was secure.

I was pleased that my daughter was wise enough and independent enough to want to walk this journey and to be able to sit at the end while waiting for me.  I was thankful for her.

The crowds were getting heavier and she wanted to walk faster so we released hands with confidence that we would be together at the end.

As I walked my pace, read the journey of those who's birth lineage had put them in harms way,my mind drifted about all the mothers and fathers who had held onto to their own children in a different kind of journey.  The mothers and fathers who had held their children's hands and looked into their eyes before sending them into the streets with the bright yellow star of David sewn into onto their garments only to be ostracized because they were from a different blood lineage.   I thought about the ways the parents would held onto their children as they found themselves boarding trains.  Parents not gentling brushing their child's hand in the midst of the crowd but squeezing their hands for fear that they would never see them again.  The journey of men and women being separated before entering the lines to underground gas cambers that awaited them.  The mom holding the small daughter's hand as they descended the steps into the a room where they were literally stripped of all of their dignity.  Parents letting go of their child's hand hoping that they would be reunited at the end of the journey.

Holding hands is such a simple gesture of being present with one another.

Today I am thankful that as I let Emma's hand slip away that I could be confident that our hands would be reunited at the end of the exhibit.  As we made our way back to Kristin's apartment I was thankful that my 12 year (soon to be 13) still wanted to hold my hand.