I’ve brought you the apple you wanted, sir.

Your righteousness, O God, reaches to the heavens; You have done great things; who is like You, O God? Psalm 71:19

O God, the King eternal, whose light divides the day from the night and turns the shadow of death into the morning: Drive far from me all wrong desires, incline my heart to keep your law, and guide my feet into the way of peace; that, having done your will with cheerfulness during the day, I may, when night comes, rejoice to give you thanks; through Jesus Christ my Lord. Amen

One of the things that C. S. Lewis captures so well is the simple, childlikeness of those who serve Aslan. Of course it helps that they are children themselves, or talking beasts. Adults are all about drains and railways and commercial possibilities, while there is a simple clarity in Digory and Polly and the moles and the elephants and especially the bears that gather around close for His blessing and do His will with great cheerfulness.

And poor Uncle Andrew misses the whole point. In order to keep himself from thinking and feeling things that he did not want to think and feel, the longer and more beautiful the Lion sang, the harder Uncle Andrew tried to make himself believe that he could hear nothing but roaring. And he cannot be comforted because he has made himself unable to hear His voice. Oh Adam’s sons, how cleverly we defend ourselves against all that might do us any good.

Thus The Call to Prayer.

To rest in His great beauty and His great love. To cease striving. To cease.

Incline my heart to keep Your law. To love the LORD God with all of my heart, all of my soul and all of my mind. And to love my neighbor as myself.

Guide my feet into the way of peace. Peace without as I greet each with His mercy and kindness, and peace within as I equally offer mercy and kindness to myself.

And may I do Your will today with great cheerfulness. Your will, not my will, may it be done here on earth as it is in heaven. I release it all down before you…my thoughts as I drive to and fro, my rather rocky homeroom group with the sullen clump of boys up front, my learning of all those new faces and names and stories, the Spanish whacking game and differentiated table groups, taking Shaun for yet another swing at the Arizona Driver’s License Test, and a very tiny community group that somehow I am leading and may that be Your will as well.

May is a conditional helping verb. And here, this morning in my prayer, it is a release, a permission to have Your way in me. Drive from me any other desires.

And yet, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.

Both of the children were looking up into the Lion’s face. And all at once (they never exactly how it happened) the face seemed to be a sea of tossing gold in which they were floating, and such a sweetness and a power rolled about them and over them and entered them that they felt they had never really been happy or wise or good, or even alive and awake, before. And the memory of that moment stayed with them always, so that as long as they both lived, if ever they were sad or afraid or angry, the thought of all that golden goodness, and the feeling that it was still there, quite close, just around the corner or just behind some door, would come back and make them sure, deep down inside, that all was well.

Selah.

Eucharist comes before the miracle.

For God alone my soul in silence waits; truly, my hope is in Him.  Psalm 62:6

Remember Your word to Your servant, because You have given me hope.   This is my comfort in my trouble, that Your promise gives me life.     Psalm 119:49–50

Far overhead beyond the veil of blue sky which hid them the stars sang again; a pure, cold, difficult music.

For what you see and hear depends a good deal from where you are standing: it also depends on what sort of person you are. Now the trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that very often you succeed. He (Uncle Andrew) soon did hear nothing but roaring in Aslan’s song. Soon he couldn’t have heard anything else even if he had wanted to. Such a horrid, bloodthirsty din of hungry and angry brutes he had never heard in his life. If they want to throw away their own lives, that’s their business. But what about me? They don’t seem to think of that. No one ever thinks of me.

So yesterday afternoon Everette and I practiced the word “splashing.” She was in her little swimming pool with an odd collection of small cups, a pail for pouring on her belly, a rag for scrubbing and even a paintbrush. And she would splash hard, and I would say the word “splashing,” and then she would splash again. And we had been bending our necks like a giraffe and pounding our chests like a gorilla and waving our arms like a monkey all afternoon. 

And I am in a world of silence. Except for the splashing of water on the plants as I water. Which gives me a great opportunity to choose where to stand. And I can choose to stand under the blue veil of stars singing a pure, cold, difficult song. Or not.

And the ground was bubbling up with life and dark firs and primroses while Polly listened to His song, and heard the things He was making up and then looking around and seeing them, she had no time to be afraid. 

But Uncle Andrew wanted to creep away to a rat’s hole.

So like Miss Courage-of-a-Wild-Boar Everette and Miss No-Time-to-Be-Afraid Polly I want to notice what He is about. Eucharist always precedes the miracle.  

And let me add to the list on my computer desktop, the list of 1000 gifts: The abundant flowers on the little desk, the birthday note on orange construction paper, the friends who arrived with crackers and veggies and hummus and Brie with pomegranate seeds and prayers, cups of dense Nescafe, the metallic spin of the air conditioner, Mary Beth’s charcoal sketches of the desert, long walks around Reid Park, a bag of finch seed strung outside the window, fresh new grass pushing up through hard desert dirt that needs a little extra watering, and Far away, down near the horizon, the sky began to turn grey. A light wind, very fresh, began to stir.

Truly, my hope is in Him.

Grant to me, Lord, I pray, the Spirit to think always what

You, O LORD, are my lamp; my God, you make my darkness bright. Psalm 18:29

God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footstep in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill He treasures up His bright designs, And works His sovereign will. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for His grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan His work in vain; God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain. William Cowper

Prayer: Drop thy still dews of quietness, Till all our strivings cease; Take from our souls the strain and stress, And let our ordered lives confess The beauty of thy peace. John G. Whittier

So I had a new pair of goggles today. Every day I vowed to replace the old pair that I probably dug out of Lost and Found and that were cracked, and the rubber was permanently wilted from too many days of sitting out in a hot car and they leaked and fogged and pinched. I finally pulled it together and bought a new pair that does not leak or fog or pinch. And I could clearly see the stained bottom of Amphi High School pool where we are swimming this week as they super chlorinate Hillenbrand.

And I remember how after my first back surgery so many years ago, a friend, Cheryl Powell, knew that the very best thing for me would be swimming. So every single day she picked me up and drove me to Amphi Pool. And I didn’t really know how to swim very well, really. I mean, I learned in a river so my strokes were ugly and short, but very functional. And she explained the clocks and the flip turns and something called intervals. And she was very patient and faithfully stubborn. I appreciate good friends during the hard painful times.

Because the clamor is great. The voices in my head. But when I muster together some grit and stare them in the face without the metaphorical leaking, fogging and pinching goggles, they all have one name: The Accuser. Pointing his trembling with rage finger in all directions. Deliver me from evil.

And even if my beautiful outstretched-arms Venetian crucifix has broken from my neck, still I know the Truth. These, He declares, each and every one including you, are My beloved children and sin has been broken forever. It is finished.

Peace I give you.

The Lord is my shepherd and nothing is wanting to me. In green pastures He hath settled me.

And in the stillness of this garden drenched by monsoon rains and roped by twinkle lights, the blossoms unfurl in bright colors. Here and here and even there are sturdy testimonies to His intentions of healing and growth and satisfying fruit.

And a bright light gleams in the sea of Dreams Come True, the darkest nightmares of unspoken fears, and leads the company of travelers into the sunshine of His presence. But no one except Lucy knew that as it circled the mast it had whispered to her, “Courage, dear heart,” and the voice, she felt sure, was Aslan's, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face.

And as I finish up with my backwards journey through Narnia, there is The Voice: In the darkness something was happening at last. A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from which direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. There were no words. There was hardly even a tune. But it was, beyond comparison, the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. It was so beautiful he could hardly bear it.

Be still, then, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted in the earth.  Psalm 46:11

Guest meditation: Prayer with Weston Baker

Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty. But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as from the Lord, the Spirit. 

"When they meant to ask Him for charity, let them, instead, start trying to manufacture charitable feelings for themselves and not notice that this is what they are doing. When they meant to pray for courage, let them really be trying to feel brave. When they say they are praying for forgiveness, let them be trying to feel forgiven. Teach them to estimate the value of each prayer by their success in producing the desired feeling; and never let them suspect how much success or failure of that kind depends on whether they are well or ill, fresh or tired, at the moment." -C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

I am reminded tonight of the power of prayer and the truth of faith.

Often, change is a gradual thing, and it is easy for me to lose sight of the process I am engaged in. While in the moment my prayers may seem ineffective even silly, or I may be feel guilty or hypocritical for even making such an effort-- yet, I believe each prayer has power.

I have been putting to practice the idea of moving in the opposite spirit and taking thoughts captive to the obedience of Christ. When lustful thoughts come, I can turn it into a prayer for purity. 

When angry thoughts at another person come, I can turn it into a prayer for grace in the life of another. 

When thoughts of self-pity come I can lay it at the feet of Jesus and thank Him for putting to death my selfish and petty self, and thank hIm for replacing it with a full, satisfied son of God the Father.

When fearful thoughts come I can turn it to a song of praise about God's abundance and His willingness to provide for me.

It is a process to kill bad habits, but the Holy Spirit loves loves loves to help in this very thing! 

The times when I can lift my head above the day to day stuff, and see a real picture of positive change in me, ought to be acknowledged and cherished.

I must never forget that it's all worth it. The testing of my faith never stops, but it should be a joyful thing, especially when I can remember that times will continue and increase like this moment, when I know choosing obedience will shape me into who I really want to be at my core: a man after God's heart.

Snuggling in close.

A broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise

But I still my soul and make it quiet, like a child upon its mother’s breast, my soul is quieted within me. Psalm 133:3

Stillness.

This house is absolutely still. No rattling, no rustling. Thick adobe walls.

Well, that is until the refrigerator kicked on its electronic rumble. And the alarm clock which was somehow set on a national disaster siren sound. The kitchen faucet started dripping. And even now, the keyboard is clicking. Pause. Clicking.

And life is full of tugs in all sorts of directions–some practical, some unworthy, and some from the pit of hell itself. And I have a choice.

To still my heart. To make it quiet.

And for this moment in time, the image of the babe on the mother’s breast, satiated and soaking in His love, is very potent. No thoughts about what lies around the curve in the road. No pretenses about being in control or in charge. No “If only I had said this.” At rest.

Choose for yourself this day whom you will serve.

As for me, I will serve the LORD.

Double, double, toil and trouble

August 10, 2014

I labored more abundantly than they all, yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me. 1 Corinthians 15:10

Yet not I.

It is not about me toiling and striving to improving my world: the relationships, the situations, or even myself. It is very clear that I have done a flat-out lousy job of that over the years.

It is about me throwing out the lies that so entangle me and pressing into the truth that I am a beloved child of God. And the biggest and fattest lie is that it is about me and my work, when it is really all about Him who is at work in me. I am not God.

And, well, I think it is very useful to face this lie that I have believed and confess how I have acted from this lie, and repent and release those areas of my life to His loving Spirit, I can do this from a position of safety and peace, from His arms, from His grace.

And the truth is that it is He who produces the fruit that endures, and my only job is to be a willing branch on his vine, soaking up the sun and rain, and opening myself up to his pulsing life. This is the life of My yoke is easy and My burden is light.  I am at rest in His faithfulness and power. And most of all His-leaving-the-ninety-and-nine love.

Stand back and be amazed.

Prayer:

Thank you Jesus that you said that your burden is light and your yoke is easy.

Help me to experience that. Help me to evaluate my day-to-day life and spot the areas which are not light and easy. Help me give back to you what I have taken upon myself. 

Help me to recognize that fruit is not my responsibility but it’s yours and you have only given me one responsibility: to listen to your voice and believe, to embrace that gift of faith which comes from hearing.

Excerpt From: Phil Drysdale. “Renew Your Mind in 30 Days.” iBooks.