To My Pen

To my pen
Whose slim figure
Lies in
The arch of my thumb

To my pen
Whose solace I seek
In pain
And in confusion

To my pen
Whose ungiving rigidity
Is firm
When I am not

To my pen
Who runs across
Paper with
Grace and fluidity

Creating words
I do not know
Words that
Have been hidden

But are now
Alive and free
Dancing
Across and down lines

To my pen
The key to my being
Unlocking
Unsung songs

Playing Doctor

Small hands poke and prod –
Squeezing my leg
Feeling my cheek
My mouth is pried open
To make way for a popsicle stick
Just when I think
I am healed
I discover I am not
Diagnose yourself!
Tell us what is wrong!
Pretend medicine can
Fix pretend scrapes
But not self-inflicted injuries:
My desire to be perfect
- striving after air –
And the frustration that follows
If only band-aids and unopened
Ice packs could heal that
But I must settle
For being bounced on
By giggling children

As the yellow
Leaf tumbles
Down, down

The breeze
Catches it
And holds it

Hovering, floating
On air
Like magic

Invisible strings
Break before
It dives

To lie in a
Field of leaves
All waiting
To be crunched

Where the Glory Never Fades

There was a woman who was a part of our church until she died at age 96. I remember hearing when I was young that she wished the Lord would just take her home. This seemed somewhat strange to me, although I supposed if I was that old and had health problems and such maybe life wouldn’t be all that great for me either. Though I am still such a baby in Christ, having spent only six years as a Christian at this point, it seems that with each day that passes I understand Mrs. Cocke’s sentiments better and better. I am only 19 years old and yet there are days when I feel a longing to simply skip this whole life and finally stand in the presence of my Savior. I cannot imagine what an ache I will have if I ever reach the age of 96.

I often think we have been so ingrained with shallow pictures of heaven that if we were to be completely honest, we would have to admit it does not always sound all that exciting. Perhaps we think of streets of gold, white robes and halos for everyone, lots of food, and plenty of singing. Well, this is nice, we might think, but somewhat boring. If that’s all it is, why should I be in such a hurry to get there? Of course, we might also correctly remember that heaven will be a place where there will be no more pain or sorrow – our tears will be wiped away. Well, that’s a little better. But still, there is plenty of joy to be had here on earth, and sometimes it even seems to make up for all of the suffering. Oh! If only we did not stop there!

Several years ago I was talking to my friend about death and heaven and she told me that the only thing that made her sad about dying was thinking about all of the things she would miss. If she died the next day, she wouldn’t ever have a job, be married, or have kids. I can still remember feeling completely amazed at her response. I told her I did not think that at the moment when I was standing before my beautiful and glorious God, my Creator and Redeemer, I would for one minute be thinking about anything I was missing out on. I supposed I would be consumed with my Savior and totally and completely unconcerned about anything else.

A sermon that has stayed with me for years was on Genesis 15:1, which says, “After this, the word of the LORD came to Abram in a vision: "Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your very great reward." Notice that the Lord tells Abram that He himself is Abram’s reward. There is nothing else mentioned, because there is no other reward that could possibly compare. Then we see in Psalm 73 that psalmist cries out “Whom have I in heaven but you?...God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” The NASB has a cross-reference to Psalm 16:5 which says, “The LORD is the portion of my inheritance and my cup.” We can thus see that the word portion in Ps. 73:26 is not strong enough; He is the portion of our inheritance. Actually, since we have no one in heaven but Himself, He is our very inheritance; He is our reward. What do we seek to gain from death but God himself? If we seek anything else, I don’t think it will ever sound all that great to us. I don’t think we will ever really feel any particularly strong draw to heaven. We can sing plenty here on earth and halos just might not suit us. But God Himself is glory and majesty. He is the source of all things, but has no source Himself. There is nothing in heaven or on earth that is more worthy or excellent, rather, God is all – the very one whose very existence ought to throw us to the ground in worship and cause us to gasp with desire for Him.

I went through a period in my life when I was desperately afraid of death. I did not even want to get into the car for fear I would get in a crash and die. I could not stand the idea of leaving this world and standing before my Maker. Now, it is my very hope and joy. While I once cried at the idea of being exposed before God, now I cry out with the desire to be in the presence of my Lord. There are times when I experience nights like I did the other day, when the entire sky was a flaming orange streaked with bright pink – alive and vibrant. It seemed as though color were pulsating out of the heavens, awakening the world and screaming of majesty. Moments like this seem to me to be a small taste of heaven. I can only think How glorious, and yet how much infinitely more glorious is my God! I drink it all in, thankful for such beauty displayed for all to see, yet longing for the One whose beauty has no comparison. There are also times when the deepness of my sin so oppresses me that my whole being yearns for the moment when I will fully and completely cast off my sinful desires, the cravings of this world, and will be totally satisfied in my Lord. Oh, how much there are times when I would like nothing better than to forego all my years of sanctification and simply gaze upon my Savior’s face!

Yes, I once thought Mrs. Cocke was somewhat strange for actually wanting to die, but over the past 6 years there have been many times when I have wanted the very same thing. Oftentimes, it has been overwhelming. But still I live and thank God for the life He has given me, however long it may be. When I look upon His face, when I meet Him as much as I can on this earth, then do I wholeheartedly echo the Apostle Paul: “For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” One day, we will stand before God and we will know Him in a way we have not known Him yet. We will be overcome by His holiness, His beauty, His glory, His majesty and we will cry out “Woe is me! For I am a man of unclean lips!” Yet we will not wither away because we will be dressed in the robes of Christ, cleansed by His blood and dressed in His righteousness. And we will spend eternity praising God for who He is and that He has poured out His grace upon us, giving us Himself as our inheritance, our very great reward.
Until this time, sing with me:
I long to be where the praise is never-ending,
Yearn to dwell where the glory never fades,
Where countless worshippers will share one song,
And cries of “worthy” will honor the Lamb!

Musings

A few days ago I was lying on my back on the grass staring up at the sky. I could feel the edges of the rough grass blades pricking my exposed skin, threatening to poke through the cloth layered on my body, but it didn’t matter. These minor annoyances were pushed away as I lost myself in the clear blue abyss of the heavens. The words that came to mind were “wide open expanses.” There was hardly a cloud – the few noticeable white streaks only accentuated the vivid blue. When I stared straight up and relaxed my body, I could feel myself being drawn into a different world. The blue became a magnet – pulling me – forcing everything else to fade into the background – as though it was all about to become non-existent. I refocused and let my eyes roam momentarily over the contours of the blue dome. Looking back at the center, I though how endless this still ocean of color seemed. I could almost imagine there was no horizon – that the curves rushed on – forming a perfect sphere – encompassing me. I wondered what it would be like to be floating in a ball of sky. Would I feel frightened by the lack of something solid or would I feel free? Would I breathe in the fragrance of hope and tirelessly swim through the sapphire stretches or would my heart constrict in desperation, longing to stand still and plunge my toes into cold, moist earth?

Perhaps these are childish fantasies – the musings of one whose weary eyes were fighting sleep. Maybe, like Alice, I was on the verge of falling over a precipice after some white creature into a beckoning dream world. Or maybe I simply found myself longing to cast off the cares of this world and catapult into another. Maybe, as the dredges of responsibility and worry clung to me, I couldn’t help but desire the glory of that which is yet unseen. Maybe, the “wide open expanse” that drapes this world was as close as I could come at the moment.

Deserving of ridicule? Perhaps.
Stirring up hope in one tired of reality? Definitely.

Try it sometime. But maybe you’d prefer a blanket.

The cords slowly constrict
Around my body
As I gasp for air –
My lungs burn
I struggle to break free
But the bonds tighten.
There is no escape

I release myself to
Rivets of pain
Longing, yearning
To be free
What is the world like?
I claw at my memory
But grasp nothing
All I see is the small, dark room –
My world now
Quietly, slowly
Words brush my soul:
There is no escape

I let it consume me
And fall back into oblivion
My pleading shrieks swim
Into nothingness
Echoing, pulsating
Fading into the silence
There is no escape

Ramifications of the Reformation

When I think of the impact of the Reformation, I usually think about the split from the Catholic church, the doctrine of salvation through faith alone, or the change in ideas of vocation. I don’t think I would ever have pictured it causing a small college in Southern California to take a week of the month of October and label it “Reformation Awareness Week.” But that is exactly what happens at Providence at the end of October, the week before Halloween.

I grew up celebrating Reformation Day when everyone else was celebrating Halloween. While little witches wandered the neighborhood, I sat at home and read the 95 Theses. Or attempted to comprehend 5 of the 95 Theses. You get the point. So, when October rolled around at Providence last year I was pleasantly surprised! It’s a week of learning about the life and work of Martin Luther and the doctrines of the church combined with a bit of fun craziness.

This year, we began again with a night of watching the movie “Martin Luther” while eating some amazing Ollie Bolen (an amazing Dutch food I had never tried before Providence since I am decidedly not Dutch :o) The next night our courtyard was alive with merriment as we sat around tables lit by candlelight, trying to see enough to tell where we were stabbing our pumpkin carving knives (although I’m not sure you could really call them knives…they were more like doll-sized bread saws). Although a lot of people got creative with their pumpkins (we had an Obama face), my roommate and I opted for the traditional triangle eyes and smile and contented ourselves to wander around with our customized caramel apples and admire the handiwork of others.

The next, we had finally reached it – Reformation Day! Booths were set up, balloons and streamers were hung, and costumes were donned as we prepared for the visitation of kids. The night’s activities included a Reformation skit, and choices from a fishing booth, donut eating contest, apple bobbing, cake-walk, and nailing the 95 Theses on the door of the church at Wittenberg (pretty much Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey). It was this last booth I was in charge of for most of the night, and I must say, it’s quite enjoyable to make people dizzy :o) So, the next time you’re wondering if anyone pays any attention to that guy named Martin Luther, wander down to Providence for a few days in October and join us as we remember the vital and long-lasting ramifications of the Reformation.

There's No Place Like Home

These past two weeks have been that wonderfully horrible time of the semester – mid-terms. Since I tend to be fairly dramatic and can quite easily turn a little amount of stress into a lot of stress, mid-terms are something I dread. As I sit here right now in my room wearing a warm sweater and cozy socks I can feel my eyes drooping and I am extremely thankful I have only one test left to take. But more than that, I feel super blessed at this moment in time.

I got a letter in the mail from a friend from back home today. I had just taken woken up from my recover-from-my-history-final nap when I stumbled into the office to find a purple envelope sitting in my mailbox. The stories from my friend’s life and my hometown left me happy, but wishing I could be home. Then this evening, I was lying on the couch in the library reading Ralph Waldo Emerson wishing more than anything I could have a fire, a blanket, and a warm cup of tea. The ache I felt to be home was overwhelming. So finally, I wandered back to my hall and as I walked down my hallway I noticed my RD’s door was open and a peek in the doorway revealed Jen standing in her cozy kitchen wearing an apron and making cookies. I walked in and once again, I just wanted to be home. But I tried to push that feeling away a little bit and started just talking to Jen. After a while, I noticed she had a basket of tea sitting on the counter and I couldn’t help but exclaim over it. Before I knew it, I was sitting down with tea cup in front of me as I dipped a bag of orange tea up and down in the water.

This might seem like a strange story to you, but I just feel like God is so amazing and I couldn’t help but share it. I don’t really know how to explain the comfort I found in that cup of tea. It was like a soothing mixture of warmth, home, and grace swirling gently around and settling peacefully in the ceramic bowl. It reminded me to trust that God has led me to the right place. When I long for the home I can’t be at, God brings a little bit of home to me. A fellow PCCer flashes me a smile, my professor makes me laugh until my sides ache, and my RD offers me a cup of tea. And I find that in the midst of craziness, stress, lack of sleep, and tests, God pours out His mercy in my life – sometimes quite literally.

Regarding Retreats and Reminders

The deep black sky was open above us, threatening to rain thousands of clear, luminescent stars down on our awestruck faces. Meanwhile, half my body was cold, half was warm, I couldn’t straighten my legs out without kicking four people in the shins, and I was lying precariously on the edge of a mattress type thing attempting to keep off of the cold wooden panels. Welcome to star-gazing in Big Bear, PCC style.

The All-School Retreat is on of the (many) things I look forward to at Providence. All 54 students (along with some staff and faculty) load into three monstrous white vans and a couple of cars, and caravan up a mountain for 24 hours of worship, learning, and general craziness (notice I didn’t include sleep in this list).

When we stepped out of our vans, excited to be leaving our schoolwork behind, we were greeted with a flaming pink and orange sunset. It was as though God had painted the sky to remind us that we weren’t there just for ourselves, but for Him. I pray we remember that as we remember the warm gloves, the flashlights waving across the paths, the team posters and face paint, and, of course, the ridiculous banana and water bottle relay races.

I love that our school is able to do things like this – to spend an afternoon clambering over rocks and getting to know each other, but I also love that God doesn’t stop there. I love that we were able to be reminded that as much as we’d like to think it, we are not our own – we’ve been bought with a price (1 Cor. 6:19-20). This means that each of us is set apart in this world for something different, and, because of this, our school is set apart in this world for something different. This retreat reminded me how important it is to turn myself and my school totally and completely over to the hand of God. For me, this crazy annual retreat was a time not only of rejuvenation, but also of rededication.

Trees

Slowly my bare feet padded across the grass. I stopped. My toes curled and my head tilted back, catching slivers of sunshine across my face. The straight, thin trunk rose up before me; the branches spread out in a canopy against the sky, woven together like the pieces of a basket or the threads of cloth. The yellowed leaves that still clung desperately to the ends of the branches dotted the grass beneath with their shadows. It was here I found my place of refuge. This tree promised protection, comfort, and beauty - a place I could weep or dream as the occasion called for it.


We moved away from the house with that tall tree when I was thirteen. As much as I regretted leaving behind the fruit which the tree produced for a few weeks out of every year, I also acutely felt the loss of my hiding place. It was a spot I had run to many times over the years, marching in circles around the trunk as I spit out words of anger or plopping myself down in the shade, pen and paper in hand, slowly scratching out the words of my newest poem. The grass around it was often watered with my tears or plucked up in contemplation.


Not too long ago, my sister and I drove by the house of our childhood. Over the top of the wooden fence one could only see sky and I was struck by how stark and empty it looked – too bright and unwelcoming. I mourned that there were no longer confident branches to spread their shade over the lanky body of a distraught nine year old.


I don’t really know what it is about trees. One day, while at college, I wandered across my campus to a lone tree that stands in the back. I clumsily arranged myself among the roots and then sat there with my back leaning against the rough bark. It seemed to me a place of peace as I felt the wind blow gently across my face and watched the sun as it hovered in the sky about to set and shoot out radiant colors. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was reminded of the days spent beneath a tree as a girl and I decided to come back often. I would come back to the tree which promised to shade me with its twisted branches and uphold me with its strength and deep-seated roots. For when I seek the shelter of a tree, I am encouraged to think of its Creator. I know it is not truly the strength or comfort of a tree that I seek, but the sheltering hand and unwavering faithfulness of my Sovereign Lord and Savior. He gives me physical places to escape to, but will not let me forget that these places are not permanent; I can find no true rest if it is not to Him that I fly. I find my true shelter under the ultimate tree: beneath the cross of Jesus.