Monday, April 21, 2014
our invitation to rest
Father, we come . . .
with emotions based on our circumstances;
because that's how we are, circumstantial in nature.
we base our happiness on whether we're well fed,
or on the shape of our body from all we've put into it . . .
what happens to us in terms of attention or affirmation,
or if we've gotten to our rightful place in the line . . .
our happy hinges upon what they've said to us or how they've treated us,
or by how much affection they give us on any particular day . . .
if the coupons have expired,
or if our bread is hard to chew on a given day . . .
whether our hugs feel bulges,
or if we feel like we're coming apart at the seams . . .
our happiness hangs on these things,
and yet it seems so silly when we speak of them this way.
we tell our kiddos about You with excited bravado,
and their questions make us stutter and feel so ill-equipped for the task.
You don't make full and complete sense to us;
we can't rationalize or fully articulate the importance of what You have done.
we strive for perfect in ways we don't even see;
it makes sense to that perfection comes in many different colors.
if only we saw all your human-beings this way:
simply perfect in all our many different colors.
we long for full and complete joy that lacks absolutely nothing.
and here we are, making it out to be all happy-clappy.
You redeem all things in time,
yet we still try to make things happen in our preferred time.
we forget about Your invitation for us to rest,
distracted by our moment-by-moment experience and the flavor of the day.
there are a hundred million things we could apologize for about our ways;
yet, we don't have to own every bit of our wretchedness.
we can sit on our porch and embrace our cup, knowing:
we are loved, as we are.
might our feelings not dictate our deeds today, Father,
and tomorrow may we still be the same in the loosing of how we feel.
may we rest in knowing that though our conditions are certainly not ideal,
there's something remarkably perfect and Holy about where we are now.
You are guiding us and gilding us through so many different processes;
we're not just parcel-gilted, You plate us with gold in full.
our ashes will be resurrected as things of beauty;
help us rest in the perfect and purposed ways in which we will rise.
remind us that there's hope, even in the heat of the crucible,
even in the rubble that whispers of things lost.
relieve us of our ever constant clawing for comfort, Father;
silence what the lines on our faces and our shadows want to tell us.
redirect our thoughts and re-pattern our ways;
slow us and remind us of our invitation to simply rest.