- Thankful that despite the memories, today was a mostly good day - that the good and beautiful parts of the memories overshadowed the harder parts for the most part.
- Thankful that I found words in some moments today.
- Thankful that I was able to be back with my house church group tonight, and for the couple who kindly gave me a ride so that I could be there.
- REALLY thankful that tomorrow is Friday.
- Thankful for a fairly productive day at work.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Daily 5 - Day 176
Today's Daily 5:
Scarf Irony
I got an ironic chuckle this afternoon as I realized that I'm wearing the same scarf today that I was wearing two years ago to the day, in the midst of the events I mentioned this morning.
The only difference is that today I'm not wearing it as a scarf.
I'm wearing it as a sling, cradling my arm and giving rest to my injured shoulder.
Ironic, really, if you know the history of me praying with this particular scarf, that it now cradles a "broken wing" to allow for healing and restoration of my shoulder.
It made me smile as I realized it.
The only difference is that today I'm not wearing it as a scarf.
I'm wearing it as a sling, cradling my arm and giving rest to my injured shoulder.
Ironic, really, if you know the history of me praying with this particular scarf, that it now cradles a "broken wing" to allow for healing and restoration of my shoulder.
It made me smile as I realized it.
Mish Mash from Henri on Joy and Caring for Ourselves
More great thoughts from Henri Nouwen...
Choosing Joy
Joy is what makes life worth living, but for many joy seems hard to find. They complain that their lives are sorrowful and depressing. What then brings the joy we so much desire? Are some people just lucky, while others have run out of luck? Strange as it may sound, we can choose joy. Two people can be part of the same event, but one may choose to live it quite differently than the other. One may choose to trust that what happened, painful as it may be, holds a promise. The other may choose despair and be destroyed by it.
What makes us human is precisely this freedom of choice.
The Joy of Being Like Others
At first sight, joy seems to be connected with being different. When you receive a compliment or win an award, you experience the joy of not being the same as others. You are faster, smarter, more beautiful, and it is that difference that brings you joy. But such joy is very temporary. True joy is hidden where we are the same as other people: fragile and mortal. It is the joy of belonging to the human race. It is the joy of being with others as a friend, a companion, a fellow traveler.
This is the joy of Jesus, who is Emmanuel: God-with-us.
Solidarity in Weakness
Joy is hidden in compassion. The word compassion literally means "to suffer with." It seems quite unlikely that suffering with another person would bring joy. Yet being with a person in pain, offering simple presence to someone in despair, sharing with a friend times of confusion and uncertainty ... such experiences can bring us deep joy. Not happiness, not excitement, not great satisfaction, but the quiet joy of being there for someone else and living in deep solidarity with our brothers and sisters in this human family. Often this is a solidarity in weakness, in brokenness, in woundedness, but it leads us to the center of joy, which is sharing our humanity with others.
Being Merciful with Ourselves
We need silence in our lives. We even desire it. But when we enter into silence we encounter a lot of inner noises, often so disturbing that a busy and distracting life seems preferable to a time of silence. Two disturbing "noises" present themselves quickly in our silence: the noise of lust and the noise of anger. Lust reveals our many unsatisfied needs, anger or many unresolved relationships. But lust and anger are very hard to face.
What are we to do? Jesus says, "Go and learn the meaning of the words: Mercy is what pleases me, not sacrifice" (Matthew 9:13). Sacrifice here means "offering up," "cutting out," "burning away," or "killing." We shouldn't do that with our lust and anger. It simply won't work. But we can be merciful toward our own noisy selves and turn these enemies into friends.
Choosing Joy
Joy is what makes life worth living, but for many joy seems hard to find. They complain that their lives are sorrowful and depressing. What then brings the joy we so much desire? Are some people just lucky, while others have run out of luck? Strange as it may sound, we can choose joy. Two people can be part of the same event, but one may choose to live it quite differently than the other. One may choose to trust that what happened, painful as it may be, holds a promise. The other may choose despair and be destroyed by it.
What makes us human is precisely this freedom of choice.
The Joy of Being Like Others
At first sight, joy seems to be connected with being different. When you receive a compliment or win an award, you experience the joy of not being the same as others. You are faster, smarter, more beautiful, and it is that difference that brings you joy. But such joy is very temporary. True joy is hidden where we are the same as other people: fragile and mortal. It is the joy of belonging to the human race. It is the joy of being with others as a friend, a companion, a fellow traveler.
This is the joy of Jesus, who is Emmanuel: God-with-us.
Solidarity in Weakness
Joy is hidden in compassion. The word compassion literally means "to suffer with." It seems quite unlikely that suffering with another person would bring joy. Yet being with a person in pain, offering simple presence to someone in despair, sharing with a friend times of confusion and uncertainty ... such experiences can bring us deep joy. Not happiness, not excitement, not great satisfaction, but the quiet joy of being there for someone else and living in deep solidarity with our brothers and sisters in this human family. Often this is a solidarity in weakness, in brokenness, in woundedness, but it leads us to the center of joy, which is sharing our humanity with others.
Being Merciful with Ourselves
We need silence in our lives. We even desire it. But when we enter into silence we encounter a lot of inner noises, often so disturbing that a busy and distracting life seems preferable to a time of silence. Two disturbing "noises" present themselves quickly in our silence: the noise of lust and the noise of anger. Lust reveals our many unsatisfied needs, anger or many unresolved relationships. But lust and anger are very hard to face.
What are we to do? Jesus says, "Go and learn the meaning of the words: Mercy is what pleases me, not sacrifice" (Matthew 9:13). Sacrifice here means "offering up," "cutting out," "burning away," or "killing." We shouldn't do that with our lust and anger. It simply won't work. But we can be merciful toward our own noisy selves and turn these enemies into friends.
Looking Back
Two years ago today I had one of the most powerful encounters with Jesus of my life.
I was half a world away and watched something I'd seen in a dream play out in real life.
It was nothing like what I expected.
The days following weren't what I'd expected either.
The years in between then and now have been some of the most difficult of my life, and at times I've resented the way that day played out.
Today, I simply remember. I remember the shared moments, and the things in those moments that only my heart can know.
And I'm grateful for those who stood with me.
And for Jesus who met me in a field that day.
I remember the smell of wine mixing with the soft, freshly tilled soil.
And I remember the line that started it all, the line that interpreted the dream in the first place. A line from a Rob Bell sermon, long forgotten now... "Wine is about the shalom of God, the wholness of God, the healing of God."
And I'm grateful for that shalom poured out that day, and in a myriad of ways since.
I was half a world away and watched something I'd seen in a dream play out in real life.
It was nothing like what I expected.
The days following weren't what I'd expected either.
The years in between then and now have been some of the most difficult of my life, and at times I've resented the way that day played out.
Today, I simply remember. I remember the shared moments, and the things in those moments that only my heart can know.
And I'm grateful for those who stood with me.
And for Jesus who met me in a field that day.
I remember the smell of wine mixing with the soft, freshly tilled soil.
And I remember the line that started it all, the line that interpreted the dream in the first place. A line from a Rob Bell sermon, long forgotten now... "Wine is about the shalom of God, the wholness of God, the healing of God."
And I'm grateful for that shalom poured out that day, and in a myriad of ways since.
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