To You I lift up my
eyes until You show me mercy.
I will put my trust in Your mercy; my heart is
joyful because of Your saving help.
How precious is Your
steadfast love, O God!
All people may take
refuge in the shadow of Your wings.
O Lord my God, I will
give thanks to You forever;
I will exult and
rejoice in Your steadfast love.
You are my God, and I
will thank You; You are my God, and I will exalt You.
Give thanks to the
LORD, for He is good, His mercy endures forever.
During my planning period yesterday afternoon I was on speed
dial. In preparation for a jam-packed weekend full of good and hard things, I
was slamming through the to do list with a determined intensity. Two students
peered into the classroom window and then bounced through the door. “Mrs.
Voelkel, we just love you. You are our favorite teacher ever.” I paused,
stopped short, as I pulled myself back into focus. And then I smiled. “Hey,
have you ever heard of a 1000 gifts list? Here, look at mine.” And I showed
them, how quite a long while back, they had made it onto my list, “527. For
Susi and Ravelle and their big bright smiles of encouragement.” And they teared
up with happiness, gave me a big hug, and laughed out the door.
And at the end of 1000
Gifts, Ann Voskamp winds up for the grand finale.
With every grace, He
sings, ”You are precious to me. You are honored, and I love you.”
I was afraid?
Could I just have a
few good verses, Lord–something to hang on to? Just a few to calm the jittery
nerves, for that, oh, stomach lurching up into throat, that crazed, bloodshot
panic that wants to scream, “What in the world was I thinking?”
I was afraid?
I would have let fears
that He wasn’t close, wasn’t passionately caring, wasn’t tenderdly tending,
keep me from seeing this sunrise bleeding love up over all the world? It’s a
new voice, this endless stream of grace, one I never get over. This love song
He is singing, it is the antitheisis of life’s theme song, that refrain o
frejection I know so well. That mental soundtrack of condemnation and criticism
that I’ve let run on continuous replay, lyrics I learned from the grade three
boys huddled on the ice, exploding laughter when my skates slide east, west and
I fell south, from the trendy city girl moved to the country who snickered at
my thrift store shirts, from the critical eye of every evaluator, judge, assessment,
grade. That heavy beat of failure, a pounding bass of disappointment, it has
pulsed through my days and I’ve mouthed the words, singing it to myself,
memorizing the ugly lines by heart.
Giving thanks awakens
me to a God giving Himself, the naked, unashamed passion, God giving Himself to
me–for me–a surrender of love.
Everywhere I go, I’m
accompanied by this Voice whispering to me new words, new love–urging me, Respond,
Respond.
Anne knelt in the ancient nave of Notre Dame in Paris and
thought about the lives, whole generations, were laid down to build the grand
edifice, to find the way in. And the pilgrimage of the ancients thought the
steps to the God-consummation were three: purgation, illumination, union.
Purgation is when one
prays for divine assistance to purge the soul of self-will. With each gift I
had accepted and given thanks for, I let go of my own will and accepted His.
But my purgation, this releasing of sin and self, wasn’t an act of will or
effort, but the at of Christ and His grace all-sufficient. Overwhelming grace
drew me to the Christ full of glory that I might empty of the self.
Illumination, the
seeker sees. A realization that belief is, in essence, a way of the eyes. The
one thousand presents wake me to the presence of God–but more so, living eucharisteo, living in thanks, had done the far harder
work of keeping me awake to Him.
Union, the medieval
Christians thought, was the final and culminating step into the hungry pursuit
of the full life, the mystical oneness achieved by only the most devout. And
while the first moment of repentance, becoming one with Christ in His death
burial, and rising from the dead is the first step of the Christ journey,
attending to grace upon grace ushers in an every deepening union, one we
experience on the skin and in the vein, feel in the deep pit of the being, an
ever-fuller realization of the Christ communion.
And when I pulled myself out of Hillenbrand pool this
morning, this same bright red sunrise bleeding love over all the world greeted
me. With a promise of red-sky-take-warning rain, sometime, in the hot dry land
that makes Jincheng lean up against the car window with a weary sigh. It is
much easier to remember the mercy drops round us falling when I am outside
under His skies.
Photo by Carlos Arzate this morning, no filter.
Photo by Carlos Arzate this morning, no filter.
Which is why Heather and Grandma Coverdale and Everette went
up to Sabino Canyon yesterday, even though somehow Heather didn’t get her
heart’s desire of a farm with goats for her little girl, Everette can still
plunge fearlessly into the mountain stream, wallowing in His abundant graces.
Like Heather before her, tossing rocks at the frogs in the cattle pond behind the
ranch house. And me, catching lizards on the rocks poking out of Mill Creek
stream in the San Bernardino mountains. The joyous festive fullness of splashing
in His provision.
And last night I was reading Nicole’s little book of great
women mystics, and the author has to keep reminding the reader that ample
documentation verifies the truth of her stories. Of Blessed Martha Baouardy,,
for instance. She was beloved for her
joy, simplicity, and affectionateness (Is that really a word?) As a Carmelite,
she insisted on doing the most menial of chores, but she would be found in the
laundry rapt in a trance and singing spiritual songs. What was most delight was
the way she would levitate, flying in the air to the top of the trees,
balancing on thin branches as if she were a bird. –De Sola Chervin
Ah, perhaps the Martha in me may experience this same joy,
festivity…fullness.
He is calling me graft
on, become one with the True Vine, the vine the biblical symbol of joy
festivity…fullness. He’s calling to come and celebrate being made one, and in
Him, by Him, to bear the fruit of the full life round .-Voskamp
Just as I am, I come,
Lord Jesus, I come.
O Lord my God, I will
give thanks to You forever;
I will exult and
rejoice in Your steadfast love.
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