and overhead Heidi's pine trees roar

And that’s not all. We are full of joy even when we suffer. We know that our suffering gives us the strength to go on. The strength to go on gives us character. Character gives us hope. And hope will never let us down. God has poured His love into our hearts. Romans 5:3-5

I have nothing. I stare at these words, phrased in the simplest of English for the English Language Learner, and my sad little heart is filled with disbelief. Is this really true, or are they just the words of a delusional man?

And I read on and on, in my snatched-prayer-and-open-the-Bible-and-plop-a-finger method this morning, sitting in a dark cabin in the silence of Mt. Lemmon. All of these words, that this morning feel like empty words, describing Abraham’s faith, the faith that was counted to him as righteousness. It was a faltering faith, not cut and dried and clear. Thus Ismael. And the ramifications of that waver filling our headlines even today.

So where is this elusive joy, this they-seek-him-here-they-seek-him-there-this-dammed-elusive-Pimpernel joy? The consider it all joy brethren, when you encounter various trials and tribulations, knowing that the testing of your faith produces righteousness joy? The rejoice, I say it again, rejoice, let everyone see that you are unselfish and kind in all that you do joy? And the fruit of the Spirit is love joy peace. Against such there is no law joy? Surely since from a child I have known the Scriptures, which are able to make me wise unto salvation. Surely.

And this morning I am looking for the strength to go on. Perseverance. Where is the bottom? The place of absolute brokenness upon which to build a new foundation of hope? The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit; and a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. The lair of Shelob, down, down, down, clasping my little light.

And snatches of garbled choruses bounce around my aching me, my aching heart, my aching soul, my aching mind: No, no, I will never let go through the highs and through the low. This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.

Well. That old David, or whoever wrote all these Psalms, at least gave me words to wrap around the ache, the my-bed-is-made-of-tears sorts of words. And I remember the last time I got stuck in the Psalms, those long, long days and weeks and months and years after Mexico, I always marveled at how in the midst of the cry and the lament and supplication and when the spirit was overwhelmed within, in the end, the song would always turn to a declaration:  Thou knewest the path. I cried to Thee, O LORD; I said, “Thou art my hope and my portion in the land of the living.”

And this is what comforts me. Sometimes Paul’s hope sounds pie-in-the-sky hope, like when it-is-all-said-and-done hope, and right now I am more interested in the hope here in the Land of the Living. A hope that will carry me through the grading of essays and creating lesson plans, a hope that will help me smile through the Fall Frolic picnic with all those very aged saints waiting to cross that last river, and a hope that will help me pass out water bottles for Cyclovia tomorrow morning. The Land of the Living.

When my spirit was overwhelmed in me, then thou knewest the path. -The Holy Bible from ancient manuscripts, Containing the Old and New Testament translated from the Peshitta, The Authorized Bible from the Church of the East

And I had a lightbulb moment with one of my most thoughtful students yesterday as she was trying to tie up the 18-line epic poem I was requiring her to write about Odysseus’ journey through Hades (btw what kind of assignment is that, one might wonder). And she was trying to craft the ironic concluding couplet complete with a keening. Why oh why would the Greeks, as they were telling these tales to pass along their heroic values and worldview to the next generations, why would they include this pretty weird bit about walking through the dark path filled with all who have gone before?

And she smiled, because Odysseus was gathering their collective wisdom just before he headed on to his biggest task, the task of reclaiming his home and his wife and casting out all of those awful suitors. And what a gift it is to be able to join those who have gone before us through those shadowed valleys to become wise unto salvation. While we are yet in the land of the living.

And we talked a little it about how the word “travel” comes from the same root as “travail” and maybe she could work that into the couplet, and I sent her on her way.

Wow. And thinking to the day before, when I was walking a very different student through this same couplet. Somehow in the mysteries of the cursed burden of group work, one of Desert’s international students, the Muslim kid from the part of China that borders way up north with Mongolia got stuck with this same couplet assignment. So he had put together some sentences about death for me to look over and it was all about his fear of death because he isn’t sure how God will judge him, if he has done more good deeds or more bad deeds, and what a scary thing that is. So I talked to him, and I said Really, this is your Big Question of the year, Yusef. Who is the LORD God Almighty? Is He a holy God who is angry because we can never measure up? Or is He a holy God who even though He knows that we will never measure up, still loves us? Who loves us so much that He took on the form of a man to pay the penalty of our sin? That is your question, Yusef, is God a God of Love?

And, yes, that is my Big Question as well. For this day, for this year that has no fast forward button, for this life in the Land of the Living? Is this Almighty God a God of Love?

God has poured His love into my heart. According to the riches of His glory may He grant me to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in my inner being.

Selah.

Standing tall, feet planted, looking out over the new year, the wind tossling my hair

When all kinds of trials and temptations crowd into your lives my brothers, don’t resent them as intruders, but welcome them as friends! Realise that they come to test your faith and to produce in you the quality of endurance. But let the process go on until that endurance is fully developed, and you will find you have become men of mature character with the right sort of independence. James 1:2-4 (J. B. Phillips)

This right sort of independence is freedom from untruth. Freedom from fear, anxiety, worry. These trials and temptations are to be welcomed into our lives time and time again so that we can once again experience God’s love and power and sufficiency.

Tiptoeing around the stagnant waters of a safe life is continuing in slavery, the bondage of the lie that it is up to me and my strength, my wit and my charm. And might as well play it safe. These are certainly not the still waters where He promises to lead me. Rather it is my little roily self breaking away from the Good Shepherd to find my very own maybe manageable mud puddle. 

I first memorized James in Barrio Nuestra Esfuerza, San Jose de Ocoa, Republica Dominicana. Ironically. And life there was all about endurance. The hitch up your britches and quit cha bellyachin’ lots of people have it a lot worse sort of endurance. Not so much The consider it pure joy sort of endurance that James is talking about.

I always thought that endurance meant tenacity, doggedness, grit sorts of things. But Merriam-Webster’s first alphabetical order synonym is abidance. Which I didn’t even know was a word. Abide in Me.

And I just about let the Our Strength sort of endurance ruin my trip to New York City. I was wound up pretty tight. Maybe not so much fun to be around. But that ol’ Uncle Jim kept me straight. And as we trundled pretty much all of his earthly possessions including two canes and a slightly broken walker and a bag of Depends through crowded full of late flights and weary attendant airports he kept marveling, “God is so good to me,” each time as if it were a brand new discovery.

A discovery of a new country, a new vista, a new way of seeing life. Perfect and complete. Lacking in nothing. Because He and only He is sufficient.

Tossing away the dross

And when the ship was caught and could not face the wind, we gave way to it and were driven along.  Acts 27:15

If it ain’t one thing, it’s another.

The little journey to Rome, the place that God made perfectly clear to Paul that he was to go, pretty much feels like my day-to-day.  Or as Sophie pointed out last night, as our community group shared trials that have been resolved and trials that we are in the midst of, what is common to mankind. ...winds were against us... we sailed slowly for a number of days... arrived with difficulty... the wind did not allow us to go farther... voyage was now dangerous...  the harbor was not suitable to spend the winter in... soon a tempestuous wind, called the northeaster, struck down from the land...Although Alan reminded us that it could be a lot worse; after reading about the nice, cheerful young man who lost his arms and legs in Afghanistan, his day-to-day murmuring shifted into low gear.

And Elizabeth underscored the if necessary, as in, In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials.  Our Loving Father knows that the testing by fire purifies and refines our faith, which is more precious than gold. This testing is not random dumb miserable luck, but it is intentional, deliberate, in order to produce strong, healthy, vibrant lives that persevere.  That’s the hot thing in education journals this week, “The promise of noncognitive factors... that focus on the idea of developing students’ “grit” or perseverance in challenging work.” (University of Chicago, June 2012)

I certainly have one of Alan’s ever-present metaphors clearly in mind.  Those smashed Land Rover bits and pieces dragged up and over the Dominican countryside to be unceremoniously dumped into the flame, hotter and hotter, carefully measured by the fancy new thermocouple sent from the States, until the dross and random nuts and bolts are scooped out, tossed aside, and the shimmering molten mass is poured into a tamped down mold, to emerge as a glistening vessel, ready for service.

So even though we all mutter the “Please, God, help me find a good parking spot,” prayers, deep down we must know that we don’t want fat sit-on-the-couch-of-life existences, or even glowing hobbit lives consisting of at least six meals a day and an endless loop of exchanging birthday presents.  

And even though sometimes the only thing we can immediately feel about the trials passed through is relief from the constant broken-heart pain, we are rejoined to Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, when we encounter these various trials of many kinds.  And it not about Dostoevsky’s Man from the Underground’s “I suffer, therefore I am,” three cheers for the dark cellar sort of stiff-upper-lip striding through life.  

Paul, Mr. Bound-In-Chains Paul says, “Pure joy.”