Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts

rose and thorn (i)

(rose)


On Sunday, I felt lost and lonely. My parents were with my uncle and aunt, my sister was working in the nursery, and I was trying to juggle my dad's responsibilities at church, my own, and keeping an eye on my youngest brother. And so, during grace and peace, when one of my best friends came up to hug me, I fell apart and sobbed and cried on her shoulder. She held me tight and didn't let go until I was ready. So thankful for her.

(thorn)


I forgot the weariness of grief.
How the body echoes the soul
Broken and alone.


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Secret-Keeping

"What we hunger for perhaps more than anything else is to be known in our full humanness, and yet that is often just what we also fear more than anything else. It is important to tell at least from time to time the secret of who we truly and fully are . . . because otherwise we run the risk of losing track of who we truly and fully are and little by little come to accept instead the highly edited version which we put forth in hope that the world will find it more acceptable than the real thing. It is important to tell our secrets too because it makes it easier . . . for other people to tell us a secret or two of their own . . . "

~ Frederick Buechner

These past few days have been secret-sharing days, days of being open and vulnerable, in the most frightening ways possible. Last Thursday, I decided that I just couldn't do it alone, couldn't bear the heaviness of life at the moment, and so I texted a friend. She didn't text back. Instead, she called me, and as soon as I heard her voice, I almost broke down with the gratitude of talking to someone else. I spent the evening talking and listening to her, instead of being a pathetic mess. We were roommates together last year, so she's seen me in the most pathetic states possible, and was just the absolutely perfect friend to talk to. She heard my secrets, and I heard hers.

I'm stubborn and proud too often, and most times, I try to escape my human-ness and weakness. Yet the moment I acknowledge my weakness, grace floods my life in the most beautiful and different ways. That evening on the phone marked the beginning of a grace flood.

The next day, another friend called and invited me over to her house. We climbed to the top of her bunk bed and talked about Miyusaki, Anna Karenina, and Jane Kenyon. Then we sat in her living room, she drank apple cider, I had strawberry white tea. I held her dog, Ginger, and met some new people. For the first time in awhile, I felt rested, whole, and strangely vulnerable with this girl who I have only just met five months ago. It's a good vulnerable, the type that we need with new friendships, the type that sometimes scares me to no end. I had hesitated to accept her invitation at first, it's so much easier to face friends when life doesn't seem like a crashing wreck, but I'm again filled with gratitude that she would trust me and that we're learning to trust and love each other as friends. I was absurdly happy that entire day.

And the flood continued.

Monday, I woke up and found a letter in a black-and-white envelope on my desk. "Fairy Land. We live because we 'dream.' Let's go out in a dreamy mood," it said. It had a picture of Little Red Riding Hood. I loved the letter even before I opened it. More stories and secret-keeping. I used Skype to reconnect with another new friend. It was lovely. That evening, I cooked Thai peanut chicken with another friend, then sat around a small table with five more friends, and we talked about Genesis and Noah and another type of flood, a flood of justice and a man saved by grace, and radical-ness and books.

Then again today, I used Skype with one of my best friends from high-school, and we talked as the light gradually slipped from dusk to evening. After our talk, I ran out to join my family for dinner and spent the evening reading about Rembrandt. The evening went on, and I had another totally unplanned phone call with another very dear friend.

I wonder if friendships are really just this - secret-keeping. Not secrets in a CIA form, but just the secrets of our shared weaknesses, the truths we're not so ready to tell a passing stranger. That's not the whole of friendships, obviously, but it has such a huge part. We're still growing and learning in this new, old world. But if we don't stop and share the quiet, lonely moments or the moments that we want to scream and shout, then those moments become hidden in the corner until we start denying their existence. We're not here alone, but with people, people placed here for a purpose.

Maybe this is just another reminder about how our weaknesses can bring glory and beauty to God. We would be arrogant autonomous beings if we didn't have these weaknesses that bind us together in love and friendships.



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This Valentine's Day




Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the children of God.


1 John 3:1

It's Valentine's Day, and I feel like such a child. So small, so insignificant, and so unworthy of this great love that has been given unto me: the love of my Lord and Savior.

This isn't just a warm and fuzzy love. This Love defeated death itself.

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Ye are my friends."

John 15:9

We're His children, His friends, and even more than that, we the Church are called His bride.

And behold the Bridegroom cometh for His bride.




I can only marvel at this great truth. Dante's words and imagery fill my mind... and I hold hope. Joy. Wonder.

Love.

High phantasy lost power and here broke off;
Yet as a wheel moves smoothly, free from jars,
My will and my desire were turned by love,

The love that moves the sun and the other stars.

Dante, Paradiso, The Last Canto

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Pierced

I don't know how many times I've done this. I don't want to know. My knees lose their strength, and I'm kneeling on the floor.

My forehead touches the floor, the cool wood soothes my burning skin. I'm crying.

My lips move to pray, "Your Will be done.
" But all that comes out is the muted cry, Why?

And the tears keep falling.





It has been two 1/2 months now. I think I have finally realized that this might just stay with me for awhile. The doctors don't have a diagnosis, and even though I wish fervently they could wave a magic wand and make all the pain go away, that's just not the way it is.

But I am home :) With parents who would drive for an hour and a half to take me to ER, brothers who make me laugh, sisters who do my chores, and friends who pray for me and brighten my days with their sweet and dear friendship. There's no legitimate reason for me to be sad or discontent with my lot. I am so blessed, so happy, and so grateful to God.

I have learned so much and am still learning from this whole experience, and despite all the pain, I thank God for putting me through all of this. He is showing me what beautiful joy there is, how blessed I am, how *healthy* I am in comparison to others. Divine truth pierces my doubts, my fears. Divine sovreignty pierces through my plans, leaves me helpless. And my heavenly Father patiently teaches me that the night may come, but Joy will come in the morning.

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Forgiving Alyosha

I will never forget my first reading of The Brothers Karamazof. Four days of rain, reading, and hospital visits – the last few days of my grandpa’s life. The thick, paperback volume followed as my constant companion during those days. I remember, almost too clearly, when I read “The Grand Inquisitor”. I forgot all about my surroundings, forgot about the mocking comfort of the hospital waiting room, Ivan had my whole attention. He finished talking, I turned to Alyosha, waiting. Waiting for his perfect solution. And Alyosha walked up to Ivan and kissed him. That was all. Just a kiss. I couldn’t believe it. He had no answer to the all-too-real problem of grief. It seemed like the most cowardly action. He just… gave up. I put the book down, confused, disappointed. I had hoped so much for some sort of comfort, anything. And all I found was this. Two hours later, my grandfather died.

Nothing else stands out from that first reading, I read in grief. I do remember loving the end, yet. Yet, I never could bring myself to forgive Alyosha (or Dostoevsky for that matter) for his response to Ivan. No matter how many times I reread the book, I could never enjoy that scene. Not until now, five years and at least five rereads later, now I can understand and fully see the meaning of that kiss.

The problem of pain, real pain, continually faces us. The pain of death, grief, loss, even haunts – or more accurately, especially haunts – us Christians. If there is truly a good God, how do we deal with the evil in the world? Our ready-made apologetics and answers fall flat when we speak to those in grief, to the mother who lost her youngest daughter. A quick glance at her tear-filled eyes, listening to her cries, and we have no words to answer her ever-repeated question, “Why?” This is the real world. This is the world of Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky does not sugarcoat the world in his novel, far from it, he lays before us the most perplexing issues of life: cruelty to the innocent, death, murder, unjust accusations. And along with these problems, he gives us an answer. An answer to the problem of pain – Alyosha’s kiss.

“Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matthew 22:39), the second greatest commandment, Alyosha exemplifies this in his kiss. It is our answer to the problem of evil. Love, pure and true, love. We may recoil, saying, “No! That can’t be all! Just love?” Yet, that is the answer Dostoevsky gives. Love, an active and all encompassing love. Remember the Christian definition of love, perfectly set forth in our Lord Christ. Modernity has given a sentimental, almost ridiculous, warm and fuzzy definition to the concept of love. Forget that. Think of a love that perseveres in the face of trials, stronger than steel; covers a multitude of sins, with merciful grace; and never, never, never gives up. Alyosha’s kiss, what I thought cowardly and weak, is one of the most courageous and strong actions. This is love of Christ for His church, the love we should all aspire to.

Alyosha, the one constant character in the entire book, strives to live with faith and love. The final pages leave us with his exhortation to love – the verbal expression of his kiss earlier in the book. I’ll never forget that first disappointment with this book, and neither will I forget the huge encouragement I have gained from this past reading. I can never forget Dostoevsky’s world, so real, almost too real, but now I see a shining glory, where before I only saw grief. This past reading under Mr. Callihan’s tutelage has taught me to learn more, so much more, about myself, the world around me. And how to forgive Alyosha. May we all strive for a Christ-like love like his!

(I wrote this for my GB class)

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