This Side of the Looking Glass

So many times, as a single woman, you ask yourself if you really know your purpose in life.   For me, those early foggy fall mornings on the way to work envelope me with questions of identity and purpose.  Is life really about getting married?  Does it bring fulfillment different then what I have now?  Is that what my true purpose is?  But what if I never marry...I most likely won't... should I go work at an orphanage?  Why do we always think orphanage?  I just don't want to be a lonely, bitter, aimless old lady.

***

My thoughts drifted to my closest guy friend.  He was the closest thing to a best friend I could imagine in a guy. We could talk. Pretty much about anything.  Recently, it had become increasingly different.  Little things, nothing too spectacular, just a closeness that wasn't there before. He started to like me in a different way, or maybe he always had.  I too had been changing, or noticing change, I don't know.  Did I like him?  Maybe. Yes.  I loved him in someway, but I wasn't planning on this.  Was this right? 

***

The rain was very fitting.  Streams of silver droplets poured down my windshield, side mirror, and even when I looked at the pavement, the red reflection of the stop light shone ugly on the dank, dark, slimy tarmac.  I sighed.  Yes, the rain was very fitting.  It was crying for me.  Crying instead of me.  I couldn't cry, I was too tired.  Too weary.  Just dull inside.  Was I grieving? No, not really.  Depressed really.  I didn't have anything to cry about and I knew it.  He had asked to make it more serious, and changed his mind.  It was over.  I laughed softly, almost bitterly, to myself.  Whatever it was.  Somehow, I knew we were still friends, but now forever at a distance.  

Why had I gotten myself into this? Why did I let this happen?  What I am to do now? What does life hold?  The orphanage seemed far away and yet somehow maybe the only road.  Tibet. Tibet was far. 

Now, why in the world - Tibet?  I asked myself.  And realized it wasn't Tibet, Nigeria, or overseas that lay on my heart - it was my own selfish wish to ease an ache that clung to my heart and cried out to my brain.  I could hear it's pitiful wail - "I'm broken! Broken in two! Pity with me, for no one can fix this now."  

No, I said to my miserable heart, You are not broken. Maybe bruised, definitely tired, but not broken. Besides, I knew that God is the healer of the broken in heart, and He is only one and He was in control.  Since the beginning of my friendship (years), I had been praying - calling out to God to direct, stop, or help, whichever it was we needed.  This I knew. God was in control and it was the only thing I could cling to. 

***

To be continued.....

I am contemplating writing a book, but am not sure exactly how to start, so I think I will draw on my own experiences, and maybe work in the details of my heritage and past that is full of strange little stories, real heart breaks, mystery, and of course romance.  And here I have decided to practice. 

Maybe, I will indeed be able to write and finish writing this book:

_____________________________________

title to be determinded

Our Wedding

"Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one's life with pomp and blare,... perhaps it crept to one's side like an old friend through quiet ways;... perhaps. . . perhaps. . .love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.
                                 ~ L. M. Montgomery

While reading the "Anne" books as a young girl, I remember thinking that if ever I had the choice, that I would like to fall in love in the above manner.  Although I assumed I would meet the dark, mysterious stranger and after a whirlwind romance be carried off into the sunset, I harboured hope of a long time friendship.  Today, I look on recently past years and smile how that very hope became a reality, and it did creep to my side.  Love & romance come in different ways and diverse manners, but for me it unfolded in a manner that best suited us.  I am thankful to be married to my best friend. 

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Tonight, Tonight may all be well

Dusk has fallen, clouds cloak the darkened sky, a raindrop splatters and silently continues down the pane. As a hilltop gives view of the landsceap, my view is not far different.  Tonight is a night that novels hold for tears, but real life seldom holds to novels, and tonight we are warm.

There is a warm and gentle atmosphere

About the form of one we love, and thus

As in a tender mist our spirits are

Wrapped in the of that which is to us

The health of life’s own life--

~Percy Bysshe Shelley

Judge Gently

Often we proffer conculsions about others based on our assumptions. I am as guilty as any in this matter, but was recently challenged by the following poem to question my own conclusions of others.

We don't have to ignor evidence, and I am not speaking of tolerance of wrong doing. I am thinking of those little moments, when someone makes a different decision than our own - not a bad decision, just a different decision. Priorities and responsibilities are given to individuals by God in different ways, a person called to a distant mission field has that priority, but not everyone is called to a distant field of service.

Ask yourself today, am I judgingly gently?

Judge Gently

Pray don't find fault with the man who limps

or stumbles along the road,

unless you have worn the shoes he wears

or struggled beneath his load.

There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt,

though hidden away from view,

or the burden he bears, placed on your back

might cause you to stumble too.

Don't sneer at the man who's down today

unless you have felt the blow

that caused his fall or felt the shame

that only the fallen know.

You may be strong, but still the blows

that were his if dealt to you,

in the selfsame way, at the selfsame time,

might cause you to stagger too.

While You Sing Over Me

Look out my heart the wind is blowing again

It´s time to batten down the broken parts

Look out my heart debris is flying around

Confusion wants to shake your solid ground

Storms may come along and winds may blow

Raging tempest will come and go

But I´ll hide in the shadow of Your wings

I´ll hide in the shadow of Your wings

And listen while You sing

I´ll hide in the shadow of Your wings

And listen while You sing over me

Sing over me (2x)

Sing over me oh Lord, sing over me...

As I´ll hide in the shadow of Your wings

And listen while You sing

I´ll hide in the shadow of Your wings

And listen while You sing over me

Look out my heart

The wind is blowing again...

He Loves You So

"None eye pitied thee, to do any of these unto thee, to have compassion upon thee; but thou wast cast out in the open field, to the lothing of thy person, in the day that thou wast born.

And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live; yea, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live." Eze 16:6

It's a sad story, one of unfaithfulness, shame, and pain. The story of a young man who was passing by a field and saw a little baby discarded out in the middle, in the dirt, lying in its own blood. Born earlier that day, not even washed from birth, umbilical cord not cut, the baby had been left to die. No one cared, no wanted the baby. When the young man approached, he realized the little baby was little girl. He picked up the child and whispered an earnest, fervent plea. "Live. Live."

The young man took the baby home and the child grew into a lovely young lady. He gave her the best of everything. He fell in love with her, and she returned his love. The story seemed a fairy tale in the making, but the end was dark and full of pain.

She betrayed him, shamed him, belied his trust. She was unfaithful to him with everyone who passed by. If that wasn't enough, she took the children she had borne to her husband, and sacrificed them, killing them by fire.

The imagery is harsh, lewd, and revolting. The story of a woman who threw away all that was good and inflicted pain, taking no count of the fact that he had saved her as a baby. A wretched ending to a beautiful beginning.

Ah, but this is not quite the end of the story. The young man, now older, loves her still. He remembers that little baby that he rescued. He still remembers the young woman he fell in love with. He STILL loves her. He sets about to clean up the havoc she has created, in anger he confronts her, and after many consequences ensue, he reconfirms his vows to her.

"Nevertheless I will remember my covenant with thee in the days of thy youth, and I will establish unto thee an everlasting covenant...And I will establish my covenant with thee; and thou shalt know that I am the LORD" Ezk 16:62

And now we know who the young man is. Here is God's story, here is how he feels. Did you know this? And yet he loves us.

"But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners,

Christ died for us." Romans 5:8

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son,

that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." John 3:16

~As a golden-hearted rose~

"Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare,

like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side

like an old friend through quiet ways;perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose,

until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm

and the music; perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of

a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath."

— L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Avonlea)

~

The Lord Loved Him

I was recently struck by how many times we read in the Bible "The Lord loved him". Maybe this does not strike you as earth shattering, but I am sure it mattered greatly to the one whom the Lord loved. The Lord loved him. Powerful, enduring words that affected a man's life.

"she bare a son, and he called his name Solomon:

and the LORD loved him."

"And Solomon loved the LORD,"

2 Samuel 12:24, 1 Kings 3:3

I was thinking of this, wondering Why? Why did the Lord love Solomon. David and Bathsheba had a baby, and they named him Solomon (meaning "peace".) Then with no further explanation, God records for us that he loved Solomon -- even when Solomon was a tiny baby. In the next verse, we even read that the Lord sent word by way of Nathan the Prophet that he (the Lord) had named the baby Jedidiah (meaning "beloved of Jehovah".)

Why did the Lord love this little baby? Would Solomon grow up to please the Lord in all things? Was Solomon of a pure heritage? No, we know neither of these reasons to be the case. David and Bathsheba's story is one of sad betrayal and murder. Solomon's story started and ended well (see Ecclesiastes), but the middle was not well. (1 Kings 11).

No, however way I turned this over, I had to admit: The Lord loved him. Period. No explanation, no reason why, simply a pure truth. The Lord loved him.

I couldn't help but think how we complicate matters of love. Needing to know Why when someone tells us they love us, needing to know when they first loved us, needing to know again and again that they still love us. Maybe it should be enough that we are loved?

I am glad God doesn't give us long explanations or many little reasons. I am glad God loves us. Purely and Simply Loved.

The LORD hath appeared of old unto me, saying,

Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love:

therefore with lovingkindness

have I drawn thee. Jer 31:3

Reflections of the Master's Hand

I am certainly not the originator of this analogy, but somehow the reality of this sunk into my consciousness this time. I look at how little I am and how perfectly the trail of history behind me reflects His guidance.

Being held in the master's hand. I often revel in the pure security of being in His hand. God's hand. I can trust him, even when I don't trust him I am still in the security of the hand of God. How much greater is His plan than ours. I love looking back and seeing how what seemed to be so scary, perfectly fell into place, step by step. He has painted the picture that I can only see glimpses of... I can trust Him.

But perhaps you, like me, ask how can I trust others? God knows how I have struggled with trusting. Sometimes my fear has been so great it prompted instant and irrevocable decisions that hurt innocent people. "How can I trust others?" I ask."In light of what I know of Him, and his perfection and how little I trust Someone who deserves all my faith -- how can I trust others whom I know to be mere humans like myself?"

I do not have the answers, but this helped me understand...

The Memoirs of a Simple Violin

"I thought I felt like puddy in his hands. I realize now it is more like the feeling of being handled as a valuable violin in the hands of a musician taught by a master violinist. The musician's every motion was guided by the skill imparted to him by the Master. The Master who not only taught the musician , but the Master who made me --the simple violin that I am. How thankful I am that the musician is taught by the Master, for the Master loves me more than anyone.

The Master will always love this simple violin. He has a unique love for me because He made me--me the violin. The Master is teaching the musician to love me the way He loves me.

The musician sees the value of the violin, because it is the work of the Master. Any studied musician values a Stradivarius because of its sound, quality, beauty, and its name.

The Stradivarius bears the name of its maker, Antonio Stradivari. I am called my Master's name.

In the hands of the Master, I am formed and play, and move to my Master's music. In the hands of the Master I am completed and tried. I experience, through gentle, but sometimes painful, process. I don't always sing as I should. Sometimes I am out of tune.

Sometimes I squeak or grate in awkward sharp notes. My Master fine tunes me, tightens my strings, stretching my strings -- its uncomfortable. The Master made me for a purpose. Then the Master shows the musician, whom he made me for, how to tune and play the violin, so that I will sing for him too.....

....Sometimes, the musican makes mistakes and I vibrate with hurt. Pain. But I bravely quiver as the musican's bow catches on the stings. A loud I complain. "I AM not supposed to be played this way! This is not how my Master's music sounds!" .....

....I always marvel when my Master steps in. He gently takes the bow from the musician, and lifting me in His arms: He plays. Sweet the song of the Master.

I have seen many violins thrown or given away. A squeaky violin is not appreciated by a musician. I am always amazed when my complaints are graciously forgiven.

Cast off violins are often given to children to play with. A disobedient violin is of no use to the musician. The musician looks for one of greater value. But the Master always love the violin. Sometimes, although the Master loves the violin, He must put the stubborn violin in a different place. A stubborn violin can be of no use to the musician.

But a well-tuned violin is a beautiful and useful instrument. The Master places a fined tuned violin into the hands of a loving musician. The violin is loved by the Master and the musician alike....

...the orchestra, the conductor, and the audience love a violin made by the Master, played the the Master-taught musician. The violin cannot play itself. The violin must depend upon another.

We need others in our life. The Master made us. Can we not trust the Master to care for us even in the hands of others? The Master's love and wisdom is not limited. We can trust Him with the others in our lives. "

***

I really enjoyed the little picture of the violin. There was more to the story, which I didn't included. But the part that struck me in this story was this: I can not control what others do, but I can trust the God who made me.

1923

I have been listening to country lately, seem to be on a country trend--maybe its the scenic route I take to work or maybe just this time of summer. I was listening to the song I call "Wait for Me" although as I have just now found out, the song is really called "Love, Me". Anyways, the song reminded me of my 'adopted' great-grandpa, G.P. Taylor. Most know G.P. Taylor as an older preacher, he told us wild stories. One such story was very similar to this song, see, he and his-bride-to-be eloped when quite young, since her father didn't approve of the match. They hopped in his car and drove through one or two states until they found state where they could get married. The details of the story I have forgotten, but I will never forget him telling me the story. I think he was 98 at the time, and he laid on the couch chuckling to himself, and he kept interrupting himself with stories of his late wife, how good she was, how talented. I always loved when he told us stories. Anyway, enjoy. :)

(Since the blog music automatically plays, scroll down the page, click the pause button on the right hand side to stop the blog music.)

The Living

For all this I considered in my heart even to declare all this,

that the righteous, and the wise, and their works,

are in the hand of God:

no man knoweth either love or hatred

by all that is before them.

Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do,

do it with thy might;

for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom,

in the grave, whither thou goest.

Ecc. 9:1, 10