(now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

I reverted back; I started to care about what other people think about me. I broke down and melted into someone else’s mold. I wanted to be what they wanted; I wanted to be fun, exciting, smiley, happy, life-giving, good-to-be-around… I wanted them to approve, to enjoy me and to ask me back. There is nothing like the feeling of acceptance. But at the end of the night, after a long ride home and finally closing your eyes, laying on your back in the dark, you replay the events and find that  based on this one night, you feel nothing. Nothing imparticularly fulfilling. You’re thankful not to be alone– to be cherished, to be understood, to be wanted, but it all stops there and the basic aloneness does not subside. I am finding that we, as humans are supposed to feel, essentially, alone. We stand before God and just ourselves, and although this might sound particularly univiting, compared to other people that is how we will always feel on Earth: slightly estranged. But before God, in our times of loneliness, or in the midst of crowds in our inner solitude of heart, in our meetings with God, we will find relief in the ability to feel conjoined…. to feel the unique power of a true merge, an ultimate fit. No one and nothing will complete us like the Lord. His omnipotence is our best friend. Who can love us like he can? Who can judge us as accurately? Who balances the scales more perfectly? The following is a poem on marriage by Kahlil Gibran. Some friends and I were discussing its meaning a few weeks ago. We came to the conclusion that even if one day we find the man that really understands our experiences, or the place where we can really feel at home, we never want to build up false hopes based on the exhuasting demand that anyone or anything can live up to our absolutistic expectations. We always were and always will be, alone. And this fact is not depressing, it is just the opposite my loves. . ..

From: “The PROPHET” on Marriage 

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

is it the way the world is now? or is it my cynical self? Everywhere I go, every person I talk to, every program I watch, I anticipate the worst. I expect pain, and grief, and regret and, you know, newspaper news. Social injustice is everywhere I go. Has it become the norm? Have I began looking for it?

Last night I made the argument that the Lord is the “great simplify-er”. That His peace is in His simplicity. That knowing God is simple (not easy). I found that as I spoke to the faces around the table, I was also speaking to myself. 

A huge part of spiritual maturity is about being able to accept the light and easy yoke of Christ. As baby believers we are so inclined to choose the heavy yoke of the self-made-man; the yoke that says, “I can do this, this is my burden to bare. I’ll pull myself up by my own bootstraps, thank you.” What we are tempted to take on, in our efforts to “get things done,” is the world’s chaos. The world’s yoke is complicated, it’s bulky, it’s uneven and overwhelming. The Lord’s yoke, on the other hand, is nothing of the like; yes, it feels like a yoke around your neck, but it’s surprisingly freeing. And every time you choose that light and easy yoke, you feel the same– protected, shepherded, pacified, directed and gratefully out-of-control. God is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. The simplicity of Christ is in His consistency. And as we begin to advance in our spiritual walk from baby’s milk to steak and potatoes, the simplier (not EASIER!) our relationship with Christ becomes. You wake up in the morning and you choose Him, because you know first hand His soverignty, you’ve experienced his faithfulness.  The world is a complicated place full of havoc, confusion, chaos, inconsistency, idiosyncrisy, injustice, and cheap-shots; but the greatest news on Earth is that Christ came to heal the broken pieces and offer us something that finally, finally, finally makes sense: yesterday, today and tomorrow.

O Lord Jesus, your words to your Father were born out of your silence. Lead me into this silence, so that my words may be spoken in your name and thus be fruitful. It is so hard to be silent, silent with my mouth, but even more, silent with my heart. There is so much talking going on within me. It seems that I am always involved in inner debates with myself, my friends, my enemies, my supporters, my opponents, my colleagues, and my rivals. But this inner debate reveals how far my heart is from you. If I were simply to rest at your feet and realize that I belong to you and you alone, I would easily stop arguing with all the real and imagined people around me. These arguments show my insecurity, my fear, my apprehensions. You, O Lord, will give me all the attention I need if I would simply stop talking and start listening to you. I know that in the silence of my heart you will speak to me and show me your love. Give me, O Lord, that silence. Let me be patient and grow slowly into this silence in which I can be with you.  

Tonight I am speechless and full of things to say. I am speechless by choice… well, that sounds too passive; mainly I am speechless because the worst thing to do would be to open my mouth.  I have all the words stored upstairs; pounding down the door of my mouth; but my judgement tells me that these pressing unspokens must wait. I feel like I am going to pee my pants.  I want it to be said, finally, but that would be selfish.  And so, I am anxious.

I have learned more about myself, it seems, in the past three days than the past three years. I am learning how to have self-control (the source of most of the anxiety, I’m sure). I am learning how to be a good friend. I am learning to be thankful for the mistakes I’ve made. The past, I am realizing, is something we do not have the liberty to regret. So in light of these things, in light of the new year, in light of the recent dramatic learning curve, in the spirit of embracing my broken past… there is nothing left to say on this third day of the new year but, “praise the Lord!”