This has been a full week and a bit, and eventually I'll have time to sit down, sift through my thoughts, and put some of them here. In the meantime, however, I'm going to my standby - another email I received from the Henri Nouwen society... I liked this new way of looking at the Road to Emmaus story, and I am meditating this morning, as I sip tea and sit at my desk, about what it means to be a "Christ-bearer."
Companion of the Souls
When the two disciples recognised Jesus as he broke the bread for them in their house in Emmaus, he "vanished from their sight" (Luke 24:31). The recognition and the disappearance of Jesus are one and the same event. Why? Because the disciples recognised that their Lord Jesus, the Christ, now lives in them ... that they have become Christ-bearers. Therefore, Jesus no longer sits across the table from them as the stranger, the guest, the friend with whom they can speak and from whom they can receive good counsel. He has become one with them. He has given them his own Spirit of Love. Their companion on the journey has become the companion of their souls. They are alive, yet it is no longer them, but Christ living in them (see Galatians 2:20).
Friday, October 05, 2007
Thursday, October 04, 2007
I'm laughing now...
I’m laughing now, but I wasn’t last night.
I walked in the door to my house last night after work, and, as I was changing clothes and getting ready to head back out for a coffee date with friends, I wondered why my house didn’t feel very much warmer inside than the nearly freezing outdoors.
I sort of figured it was that my internal body temperature is still off from being ill all week, but decided to check with my roommate anyway. “Is it me, or is it cold in here?”
She told me it was cold in our house.
I said I was going to turn the thermostat up.
She said that she’d actually turned the furnace off a day or two previously.
I almost lost it at that point.
I have to keep reminding myself that she’s never in her lifetime experienced winter. That she is a New Zealander who spent a huge chunk of her life in West Africa. That snow, and months of temperatures below zero are a foreign concept.
She has a need to conserve energy, which is great, except that we are living in a basement suite in Western Canada, not West Africa. Turning the heater off as winter approaches is not a good method of energy conservation in our living situation.
I told her she can’t turn the furnace off anymore. Things will freeze that shouldn’t – things like water pipes, and, well, me!
It took my brother to make me laugh at this one. He picked me up for the coffee with friends, and I was telling him that J. had turned off our heat. He wanted to know why – I told him it was because she wanted to conserve energy and save money. He cracked up when I commented that we don’t even pay for our heat separately – it’s included in our monthly rent! I started seeing the lighter side of it at that moment. She was curled up on our couch under a blanket when I left, wearing a polar fleece sweater and a scarf, and thought that it was normal!
I’m wondering, now if I was ever fighting with a faulty body thermostat this week, for the three days I’ve spent battling chills, or if it was just simply that my thrifty roommate was saving money on something that costs us nothing!
I walked in the door to my house last night after work, and, as I was changing clothes and getting ready to head back out for a coffee date with friends, I wondered why my house didn’t feel very much warmer inside than the nearly freezing outdoors.
I sort of figured it was that my internal body temperature is still off from being ill all week, but decided to check with my roommate anyway. “Is it me, or is it cold in here?”
She told me it was cold in our house.
I said I was going to turn the thermostat up.
She said that she’d actually turned the furnace off a day or two previously.
I almost lost it at that point.
I have to keep reminding myself that she’s never in her lifetime experienced winter. That she is a New Zealander who spent a huge chunk of her life in West Africa. That snow, and months of temperatures below zero are a foreign concept.
She has a need to conserve energy, which is great, except that we are living in a basement suite in Western Canada, not West Africa. Turning the heater off as winter approaches is not a good method of energy conservation in our living situation.
I told her she can’t turn the furnace off anymore. Things will freeze that shouldn’t – things like water pipes, and, well, me!
It took my brother to make me laugh at this one. He picked me up for the coffee with friends, and I was telling him that J. had turned off our heat. He wanted to know why – I told him it was because she wanted to conserve energy and save money. He cracked up when I commented that we don’t even pay for our heat separately – it’s included in our monthly rent! I started seeing the lighter side of it at that moment. She was curled up on our couch under a blanket when I left, wearing a polar fleece sweater and a scarf, and thought that it was normal!
I’m wondering, now if I was ever fighting with a faulty body thermostat this week, for the three days I’ve spent battling chills, or if it was just simply that my thrifty roommate was saving money on something that costs us nothing!
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Still thinking about it...
There is a moment of praying for someone that has haunted me for nearly two years. I wrote it about shortly after it happened here. That post remains my favorite blog post of all time, and you should read it before you read this one.
I've lost touch with her since then... and I wish I hadn't... I miss her - I miss her gutsy attitude in the face of insurmountable odds. I miss her sarcasm, her understanding of femininity, sharing books with her, and making catty comments back and forth across the Christian bookstore aisle at some of the truly ridiculous titles.
I'd like to pray for her again now, to wrap my arms around her and pray from this side of God's healing... to pray with the real belief in a God who heals and loves, and wants so desperately for her to find freedom and healing and wholeness.
I'd love to see her dance in worship, and see the triumph on her face when she tells a really great God story.
I wrote that night that I was praying that God would take a tiny mustard seed of faith - that He would hear the cry of my heart and not the inadequate words of my mouth. I remember the complete frustration of that moment, the whispered prayers, the shouting at a God who I was convinced didn't hear, because my own life was in such shambles.
Two weeks later I was healed. Seven years of depression gone - nearly overnight.
And her story? tied to my own healing - a long story involving feet, cutting, visions, and so much more.
Two years have passed, and I still find myself asking Jesus what it means that my own healing was so closely tied to the brokenness of another young woman. I was asking it again over the weekend...
I hadn't realized until today how close together the two dates were - the date of that moment when I held her in church, and the date of my own healing. The distance between hopelessness and growing wholeness was shorter than I remembered.
And now, I can't gather her in my arms anymore. No more catty comments in bookstores, or watching her dance during worship, but I still think about her often.
And though I can't hold her, the prayers for her wholeness roll nearly daily from my lips.
I've lost touch with her since then... and I wish I hadn't... I miss her - I miss her gutsy attitude in the face of insurmountable odds. I miss her sarcasm, her understanding of femininity, sharing books with her, and making catty comments back and forth across the Christian bookstore aisle at some of the truly ridiculous titles.
I'd like to pray for her again now, to wrap my arms around her and pray from this side of God's healing... to pray with the real belief in a God who heals and loves, and wants so desperately for her to find freedom and healing and wholeness.
I'd love to see her dance in worship, and see the triumph on her face when she tells a really great God story.
I wrote that night that I was praying that God would take a tiny mustard seed of faith - that He would hear the cry of my heart and not the inadequate words of my mouth. I remember the complete frustration of that moment, the whispered prayers, the shouting at a God who I was convinced didn't hear, because my own life was in such shambles.
Two weeks later I was healed. Seven years of depression gone - nearly overnight.
And her story? tied to my own healing - a long story involving feet, cutting, visions, and so much more.
Two years have passed, and I still find myself asking Jesus what it means that my own healing was so closely tied to the brokenness of another young woman. I was asking it again over the weekend...
I hadn't realized until today how close together the two dates were - the date of that moment when I held her in church, and the date of my own healing. The distance between hopelessness and growing wholeness was shorter than I remembered.
And now, I can't gather her in my arms anymore. No more catty comments in bookstores, or watching her dance during worship, but I still think about her often.
And though I can't hold her, the prayers for her wholeness roll nearly daily from my lips.
A Place of Vulnerability and Trust
More great stuff from Henri Nouwen...
A Place of Vulnerability and Trust
When we gather around the table and eat from the same loaf and drink from the same cup, we are most vulnerable to one another. We cannot have a meal together in peace with guns hanging over our shoulders and pistols attached to our belts. When we break bread together we leave our arms - whether they are physical or mental - at the door and enter into a place of mutual vulnerability and trust.
The beauty of the Eucharist is precisely that it is the place where a vulnerable God invites vulnerable people to come together in a peaceful meal. When we break bread and give it to each other, fear vanishes and God becomes very close.
A Place of Vulnerability and Trust
When we gather around the table and eat from the same loaf and drink from the same cup, we are most vulnerable to one another. We cannot have a meal together in peace with guns hanging over our shoulders and pistols attached to our belts. When we break bread together we leave our arms - whether they are physical or mental - at the door and enter into a place of mutual vulnerability and trust.
The beauty of the Eucharist is precisely that it is the place where a vulnerable God invites vulnerable people to come together in a peaceful meal. When we break bread and give it to each other, fear vanishes and God becomes very close.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Counseling
I've been thinking about people today, as I've drifted in and out of naps, recovering from some sort of stomach bug that hit me as I drove back to Calgary from the mountains at 5:30 yesterday morning.
I spent the weekend with people. Hearing stories, praying, sharing hearts, and it was one of the more intense yet beautiful things I could imagine.
I was at work for two hours this morning before my stomach and light-headedness got the better of me and sent me home for the day to the couch in my living room. It was really hard to walk back into that atmosphere. To know that it is occasionally a place of ministry and connecting with people, but that it is also a place where I do very little that motivates or inspires or challenges me.
I am beginning to sense a confirmation of things that are coming. I had a conversation last night with a friend who has just moved back to Calgary to pursue schooling towards her own dream of becoming a counselor.
I want to spend my days listening to people's stories, praying for them, and loving them. The best moments in my current work day are the moments I get to spend at lunch hour or coffee break, dialouging with a friend who always has big questions on her mind - answering questions, sharing my heart and journey with her.
It's time to start pursuing that dream again, to take it up from the way-side. To query some schools - my dream school in Seattle, and an option in Calgary/Winnipeg as well. I'm going to spend some time this week sending out emails and seeing what comes back... It's time to be spending my days with people instead of numbers and typing projects.
I spent the weekend with people. Hearing stories, praying, sharing hearts, and it was one of the more intense yet beautiful things I could imagine.
I was at work for two hours this morning before my stomach and light-headedness got the better of me and sent me home for the day to the couch in my living room. It was really hard to walk back into that atmosphere. To know that it is occasionally a place of ministry and connecting with people, but that it is also a place where I do very little that motivates or inspires or challenges me.
I am beginning to sense a confirmation of things that are coming. I had a conversation last night with a friend who has just moved back to Calgary to pursue schooling towards her own dream of becoming a counselor.
I want to spend my days listening to people's stories, praying for them, and loving them. The best moments in my current work day are the moments I get to spend at lunch hour or coffee break, dialouging with a friend who always has big questions on her mind - answering questions, sharing my heart and journey with her.
It's time to start pursuing that dream again, to take it up from the way-side. To query some schools - my dream school in Seattle, and an option in Calgary/Winnipeg as well. I'm going to spend some time this week sending out emails and seeing what comes back... It's time to be spending my days with people instead of numbers and typing projects.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
