My muscles have very unexpectedly and painfully tightened after two nights in a row of yoga. I got up just now from where I was sitting and was shocked to discover just how painful my entire body seems to be. Suffice it to say that tomorrow will definitely be a night off from the yoga routine!
I had the delightful treat of not being responsible for dinner preparations tonight. L. barbequed steak and potatoes and made a salad. All I had to do was add a bit of feta (a salad staple in our house) to the salad.
I managed to get some sorting done too. I'm all about making little bits of progress right now. Manageable achievements.
I feel a bit as if something has shifted around me somehow in the late hours of this day, and I'm praying for rest and sleep tonight because of that shift.
I'm also praying for a friend who is giving birth tonight. Bringing a little girl into the world. I'm looking forward to meeting this special little person who has been long anticipated.
I managed to get some writing done today as well. And that, too, was therapeutic in some ways.
I'm feeling like this post rambles, as I try to collect my thoughts and summarize the evening before sleeping, so I'm going to say good night here.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Quoting Henri Again
Another few thoughts from Henri Nouwen that I found quite striking...
Being Broken
Being Broken
Jesus was broken on the cross. He lived his suffering and death not as an evil to avoid at all costs, but as a mission to embrace. We too are broken. We live with broken bodies, broken hearts, broken minds or broken spirits. We suffer from broken relationships.
How can we live our brokenness? Jesus invites us to embrace our brokenness as he embraced the cross and live it as part of our mission. He asks us not to reject our brokenness as a curse from God that reminds us of our sinfulness but to accept it and put it under God's blessing for our purification and sanctification. Thus our brokenness can become a gateway to new life.
Being Given
Jesus is given to the world. He was chosen, blessed, and broken to be given. Jesus' life and death were a life and death for others. The Beloved Son of God, chosen from all eternity, was broken on the cross so that this one life could multiply and become food for people of all places and all times.
As God's beloved children we have to believe that our little lives, when lived as God's chosen and blessed children, are broken to be given to others. We too have to become bread for the world. When we live our brokenness under the blessing, our lives will continue to bear fruit from generation to generation. That is the story of the saints - they died, but they continue to be alive in the hearts of those who live after them - and it can be our story too.
I Can't Walk Away
I'm asking "what would happen if..." questions this morning about a lot of things.
Most of them aren't quite ready to share here.
I'm struggling deeply, and, to be honest, in some ways, I'm trying to hide from God. I'm tired. And in the rare occasions I've sensed his hand and leading and voice lately, the things He's asked have been painful and hard, tugging at my already broken heart.
I'm still listening to "Because You Are" on repeat as I drive to work each morning. "I keep singing skyward, it just never rains." Would it make sense if I said that I both desperately desire the rain, and am absolutely horrified at the thought of what it might bring?
I traded emails with a dear friend last night about a decision I needed to make. Her words were helpful in that, at least for a few moments I felt slightly less alone in the midst of some of the things I was walking through. Her words (and the words that formed in my responses) brought deep tears to the surface, and a few of them fell.
Sleep remains elusive. I'm trying not to count nights (four) or panic (too late). It becomes harder to push away the panic and anxiety when I'm not getting adequate rest. The things that haunt me become stronger and stronger as sleep becomes a more distant memory. The growing number of bruises on my arms and legs when I wake each morning tell me a story of struggle, battle, wrestling as I sleep. And that thought too, is draining.
There are days I wish I could leave Jesus behind. Where I wish that somewhere along the way, I'd found joy and peace and fulfilment of the depth I've found in Jesus somewhere else, anywhere else, because then I could leave Jesus without knowing that I was walking away from the one thing that has brought peace and joy and healing. But I can't walk away... even in those moments when I deeply fear what will happen if I keep walking forward. Even in the moments when the panic is thick and deep. I can't walk away. And that is both the most comforting and absolutely terrifying and frustrating thought in existence.
Most of them aren't quite ready to share here.
I'm struggling deeply, and, to be honest, in some ways, I'm trying to hide from God. I'm tired. And in the rare occasions I've sensed his hand and leading and voice lately, the things He's asked have been painful and hard, tugging at my already broken heart.
I'm still listening to "Because You Are" on repeat as I drive to work each morning. "I keep singing skyward, it just never rains." Would it make sense if I said that I both desperately desire the rain, and am absolutely horrified at the thought of what it might bring?
I traded emails with a dear friend last night about a decision I needed to make. Her words were helpful in that, at least for a few moments I felt slightly less alone in the midst of some of the things I was walking through. Her words (and the words that formed in my responses) brought deep tears to the surface, and a few of them fell.
Sleep remains elusive. I'm trying not to count nights (four) or panic (too late). It becomes harder to push away the panic and anxiety when I'm not getting adequate rest. The things that haunt me become stronger and stronger as sleep becomes a more distant memory. The growing number of bruises on my arms and legs when I wake each morning tell me a story of struggle, battle, wrestling as I sleep. And that thought too, is draining.
There are days I wish I could leave Jesus behind. Where I wish that somewhere along the way, I'd found joy and peace and fulfilment of the depth I've found in Jesus somewhere else, anywhere else, because then I could leave Jesus without knowing that I was walking away from the one thing that has brought peace and joy and healing. But I can't walk away... even in those moments when I deeply fear what will happen if I keep walking forward. Even in the moments when the panic is thick and deep. I can't walk away. And that is both the most comforting and absolutely terrifying and frustrating thought in existence.
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