Pounding out the rhythm of His love

I will hear what the True God—the Eternal—will say,
    for He will speak peace over His people,
    peace over those who to those who turn to Him in their hearts. 

Without a doubt, His salvation is near for those who revere Him
    so that He will be with us again and all His glory will fill this land.

Unfailing love and truth have met on their way;
    righteousness and peace have kissed one another. Psalm 85: 7-9

Without a doubt.  All His glory will fill this land.

Last night my brother Scott took me out for my birthday dinner.  We do that.  Take each other out for the birthdays.  Obviously not exactly on a tight schedule. One of us brings cheap wine and the other one picks up the bill at Zeman’s, the Ethiopean place across the street and we pull off pieces of injera and scoop at little brown piles of deliciousness. 

And we are His portion and He is our prize, 

Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes, 

If His grace is an ocean, we're all sinking.

And Heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss, 

And my heart turns violently inside of my chest, 

I don't have time to maintain these regrets, 

When I think about, the way... 

Oh, how He loves us oh, 

Oh how He loves us, 

How He loves us all

How He loves.

No idea where I was going with this now unfinished thought.   I am sure it was frightfully insightful.  Alas.  Great Scripture though.  Great David Crowder song.  

March 9, 2013

All the nations You have made

    will come and worship before You, Lord;

    they will bring glory to Your name.

For You are great and do marvelous deeds;

    You alone are God. Psalm 86:9-10

But maybe it had to do with the faded posters of Ethiopia on the wall and sitting across from the old man eyes of Scott and imagining all that they have seen in his relatively few short years and the stories that are aching to come out of his heart, flow from his fingers of Dominican orphanages and Somalian refugee camps and UN sort-of-relief officials and dung huts clinging to Lesotho heights.  And an isolated broken-down bus where a disabled vet lives near Four Corners, Arizona.  And the adjective “isolated” is completely superfluous.  I remember the  joy in his step and the song pounded out on a metal can about going down to the spring to fetch water.  

And now the general ache of his good heart.  As he spends eight or ten or twelve hours a day hunched over a computer, while pressing a phone receiver between his ear and shoulder and shuffling through assorted work orders and shipping lists with his free hand.  Understanding in his mind that he is serving the love of Jesus to the forgotten and so very needy multiplied many times over by now pounding out the grants and negotiating corporate donations but his soul cries otherwise. 

And his long lanky strides ache to wander over hill and dale anywhere far away, through all the nations He has made and see His grand beauty and sweetness reflected in so many sights and sounds and smells and most of all those eyes looking back at you with curiosity and grace.  But he rides his bike back and forth down Third Street, pausing long enough to pull a twisted fork out of my parents’ dishwasher machine and get home in time to help Brandon with his homework or drive him to swim team and check his email for news of Zach in Guatemala.  

And I am a lot like Scott.  We both have old Gandalf eyes and hair that sticks out in all directions.  And I hunch in front of a computer with a phone receiver pressed between my ear and my shoulder as I shuffle through the binders of Sylvan Spelling Bee rosette orders.  And my mind understands that I am equipping Christian educators worldwide as they prepare students academically and inspire students to become devoted followers of Jesus Christ, but my soul cries otherwise.

And my not-so-long strides ache to wander over hill and dale anywhere far away.  

But really.  Really the far away gathered again around our dining room table last night, and I sort of found my stride with the ribs and salad and bread once again, and oh how delicious it all was to find out how northern Chinese differs from southern Chinese and what is the fatal flaw of Guatemalans and to see Bryan the poet’s eyes light up as he thought about what he was going to maybe do after he hiked Machu Picchu now that soccer season is over and to smile as Alan and Luis and Marina scratch and thump and strum songs and I think what a brave or foolish man Manuel is to drive Pusch Ridge kids eight hours to the Mexican border to explore a cave with candles and God is good and none of them were left behind, he thinks.  

And after we held hands just before everyone left and Luis asked for God to guide us in our wanderings, I wiped the kitchen counter one more time and pushed the dishwasher machine button on. Jin Cheng clutches the orange cat as he sat in front of the remnants of the probably last fire of the season built with the wood that Yu chopped last fall, and I am very aware that God is good.  He is great.  And He does marvelous things.  

Teach me your way, Lord,

    that I may rely on Your faithfulness;

Give me an undivided heart,

   for great is Your love toward me.

Oh, how He loves us oh, 

Oh how He loves us, 

How He loves us all

How He loves.