Monday, March 28, 2016

Spring jonquils pushing their hope up through snow frosted soil.

You sent a gracious rain, O God, upon your inheritance; you refreshed the land when it was weary. Psalm 68:9

Redeemed through His infinite mercy, His child and forever I am; I know that the light of His presence With me doth continually dwell; Who lovingly guardeth my footsteps, And giveth me songs in the night. –Fanny Cosby

I am His inheritance.

And this time of Lenten reflection and repentance has been refreshing as it digs down deeply into the soil, loosening caliche-hard resentments and patterns. And thus I am soft enough to receive His grace. His gifts. In gratitude.

And of course the thing I remember from Sunday School is that even though Fanny Cosby was blind every single one of her songs speaks of seeing: His love is the theme of my song. I know I shall see in His beauty The King in whose law I delight.

And in His beauty I shall see The King.

And eucharisto always precedes the miracle.

And thus I turn to flip through Voskamp and there are the words I have internalized: When we lay the soil of our hard lives open to the rain of grace and let joy penetrate our cracked and dry places, let joy soak into our broken skin and deep crevices, life grows. How can this not be the best thing for the world? For us?

A life contemplating the blessings of Christ becomes a life acting the love of Christ.

Humbly let go. Let go of trying to do, let go of trying to control, let go of my own way, let go of my own fears. Let God blow His wind, His trials, oxygen for joy's fire. Leave the hand open and be. Be at peace. Bend the knee and be small and let God give what God chooses to give because He only gives love and whisper a surprised thanks. This is the fuel for joy's flame. Fullness of joy is discovered only in the emptying of will. And I can empty. I can empty because counting His graces has awakened me to how He cherishes me, holds me, passionately values me. I can empty because I am full of His love. I can trust.

It is in the dark that God is passing by. The bridge and our lives shake not because God has abandoned, but the exact opposite: God is passing by. God is in the tremors. Dark is the holiest ground, the glory passing by. In the blackest, God is closest, at work, forging His perfect and right will. Though it is black and we can't see and our world seems to be free-falling and we feel utterly alone, Christ is most present to us. – Anne Voskamp, 1000 Gifts

In the predawn darkness the earth shook. And the stone was rolled away, so that we, His disciples, might enter in, see, and believe. 

And Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord.”

And in His beauty I shall see The King.
Redeemed through His infinite mercy, His child and forever I am.


 And this was the chorus I sang this morning as I rode once again up Sentential Peak.