the wind

In the book, “Heart of the Artist,” Rory Noland asks the reader to choose a verse that reflects your passion. For me this verse is John 3:8, “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it comes from and where it goes. So is everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

The wind represents the Holy Spirit, who is wild and untamed. The Spirit is in constant motion, working through us and in us. When the wind of the Spirit blows, you hear it and you see the footprint of the Spirit’s work, but you cannot decipher what the Spirit will do next. It is impossible to nail God down. He isn’t tame and he isn’t predictable. Jesus didn’t do what people expected and he didn’t appear as people expected. God doesn’t follow our guidelines. He cannot be put on a leash. Like the wind, he is wild and free and unpredictable. John tells us that those who choose to follow in God’s footsteps will take on this characteristic of God. People will not be able to tell where we come from or where we are going.

I love the mystery surrounding God, yet at times I wish his image was more focused. God can be difficult to recognize. Jesus revealed the heart of God in all he said and did, yet, there were many who did not recognize God in Christ because the image they saw didn’t fit the one they drew up in their minds.

In the verses leading up to John 3:8, Jesus is having a conversation with Nicodemus about being born again. This is a difficult concept and though Nicodemus is a learned man, he cannot grasp it. He is thinking literally, reigning in his thoughts and tucking his ideas into concise little boxes. Jesus is encouraging him to free himself of his mental chains. I understand the confusion of Nicodemus. Though God tells me I am free, that the power given me through Christ is limitless, many times I feel weighted down, caged in. I feel predictable, limited, tame. In those moments my mind cannot grasp the heavenly visions because by body is weighted down in the mire of earthly things.

But though my body might be stuck in the gravitational pull of this world, my soul is reaching toward heaven.

My desire is to free myself and others from the clutches of the mundane and lifeless…
to be rid of the chains that bind us…
to realize who we are, who we truly are…
to be free and alive…
to be like the wind.

the gap

Do you feel the gap?

I feel the gap when my soul stretches forth, reaching for something greater than myself. In moments of joyful celebration, I feel the gap. When my heart is burdened with sorrow and my cheeks are stained with tears, the gap is there. I perceive this gap I feel is the distance between God and me. There was never supposed to be a gap. It doesn’t belong, and my spirit fights against it.

I believe what I feel touches on a piece of our story, the story of human beings. I believe the ache in my heart is shared by many. Donald Miller writes in Blue Like Jazz, “I am early in my story, but I believe I will stretch out into eternity, and in heaven I will reflect upon these early days, these days when it seemed God was down a dirt road, walking toward me. Years ago He was a swinging speck in the distance; now He is close enough I can hear His singing. Soon I will see the lines on His face.”

It is not God’s intention to elude us. He wants to be known. So as he walks toward me, I wonder how to bridge the space between us? As I take each step the gap shortens, but on my own strength I could never reach the other side.

In the book of Jeremiah, we learn of a new covenant God made with us. Humans made covenants with God before this, but we broke them all. God did as he said he would, but we kept falling down. So God kept making new covenants, and continued to give us opportunities to know him. In this new covenant God says he’s going to write his law in our minds and on our hearts. And he goes on to say that all will have the chance to know him, from the least of us to the greatest (Jer. 31:31-34).

Not just a select few can know God, but everyone can know him.

And then there is Jesus standing within the gap between me and God. Pascal said, “A man does not prove his greatness by standing at an extremity, but by touching both extremities at once and filling all that lies between them.”

Jesus fills the gap between divinity and humanity.

And through Jesus we meet the Holy Spirit, who can dwell within us, in our minds and in our hearts. And through the Spirit’s guidance we can know truths that were previously hidden (Jn. 16:13).

God is bridging the gap between us.
And though the distance is shortening, it's still there. My soul reaches forth, aching to fill the void. I want to be close to God, but I can't seem to get close enough.

misconceptions

My friend Emily was once my nemesis.

In high school, we couldn’t stand each other. Most of Emily’s disdain for me was probably a direct result of my verbal assaults and contemptuous glares. Unfortunately for us, we were thrown together in numerous classes throughout our four years of high school agony. One particular memory is especially clear in mind…

Sitting in geometry class, I again found myself annoyed with my arch enemy, Emily, the girl who couldn’t spell paper but somehow managed to believe she would become the first female president. We loaded our verbal artillery and engaged in the crossfire of brutal words. The teacher broke it up. I am now ashamed of the way I treated my friend. But back then I was hurting and angry, dissatisfied with my life and longing for more, but unsure how to fill the gaping hole within me. Some bore the brunt of my wrath, Emily was one of those.

Some years after commencement ceremonies, as I traveled through undergraduate studies I found myself sharing an art class with my old nemesis. At this point in my life I was learning about God and had recently entered into a relationship with him. Granger Community Church introduced me to Jesus, and I was just beginning to discover spiritual truths and freedom from condemnation. It was wonderfully freeing, and it was exactly what I had always searched for. That gaping hole within me was being filled.

So I found myself regretting my harsh treatment of Emily, and faced with her again in a new classroom. She of course, noticed me too and both of us thought it ironic that we would meet again in this way. The art class met once a week for three hours each meeting. The classroom style was informal and we were encouraged to get to know our classmates. I think we both realized we would have to talk sometime.

Emily approached me first. She apologized for her behavior in high school. I apologized too. So we made up, and that was really all I desired. But something happened during that class. I got to know Emily, my new friend. We talked for hours while our hands crafted art. We talked about spirituality, relationships, struggles and victories. We became good friends. I was amazed that I could have once interpreted Emily’s heart so badly. My perception of her in high school was wrong. And as I engaged in relationship with her, relieved of my bitterness and preconceived notions, I found I really liked her.

My relationship with Jesus began with a similar realization. Growing up, my image of God was that of a foreboding taskmaster. A God very big and very far away, but a God that always looked down from his imperial palace in the heavens pointing out every evil thing I ever did. He was cold and uncaring and distant, at least that’s what I thought. As I grew older, I began to nurture a disdain for Christ and Christians. All my encounters with Christianity left me feeling empty. I wanted nothing to do with any of it. So my aversion to Christ solidified.

But something remarkable occurred the summer of 2002. Once again I encountered Jesus, but this time I saw him truly. And upon meeting him, I discovered that he was nothing like what I expected. My preconceived notions of Jesus were wrong. He was forgiving and welcoming and revolutionary. He wasn’t always shouting at me about how bad I was, I already knew that. He was telling me that I was really special, that I was of precious value to him, that he would lay down his life for me… that he loved me. When I met Jesus, I was expecting condemnation but what I received was grace. And that grace has made all the difference in my life.

John 1:17 For the law was given through Moses, but grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.

Eph. 2:1-10 And you He made alive, who were dead in trespasses and sins, in which you once walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience, among whom also we all once conducted ourselves in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, just as the others. But God, who is rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up together, and made us sit together in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, that in the ages to come He might show the exceeding riches of His grace in His kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them.

plastic

I am reupholstering chair cushions.

The first one turned out pretty well, aside from some bits of bunched up fabric and uneven staples. In an attempt to safeguard my new fabric, I prepared to administer a protective liquid barrier. But as I stood poised with stain repellant spray in hand, I discovered my newly upholstered cushion already has a stain! A tiny almost indiscriminate green mark mars the fabric now. A fleeting thought in favor of covering these cushions with plastic bolted through my mind… I imagined my family eating dinner amidst the sounds of crunching plastic… and thought, no way. I’m not going that far.

I just don’t like furniture in plastic. It seems out of place in a home, like it belongs in a store. Now I know that plastic keeps your piece looking new and unstained, but I don’t find it worth the sacrifice. As I contemplated this, another thought occurred to me. My cushions aren’t the only things I’m tempted to wrap in protective plastic.

I think I want to conceal myself in plastic too.

Instead of allowing my messiness to be seen, sometimes I opt for a false covering, a veil that shelters and protects, but diminishes beauty. It seems to achieve the desired effect, it seems to protect me from the stains of messy relationships and the spills of a life lived outside of plastic.

I’m so afraid that everyone will see the stains that are so obvious to me. I know where these marks came from and I know the imprint they left on me. I see the wreckage of broken relationships in my past, like a tear in the fabric of my life. The tear mends but the fabric is never quite whole again. I imagine that everyone must be able to see these imperfections, these flaws that are so obvious to me. And I’m afraid I’ll be discarded as a wasted piece of furniture.

But… I don’t want to hide behind plastic. It’s suffocating. And though I battle the urge to hide, love is penetrating my synthetic walls.

Gen. 3:6-10 When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves. Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, “Where are you?” He answered, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid.”

glass ballerina

Last weekend GCC women attended a retreat. The women’s retreat is designed with the intention of guiding women into deeper relationship with God. Mark Waltz taught us a method that engages the creativity of the human mind. We meditated on Matt. 11:29 and lost ourselves in a melody sung by a man and his piano. Mark guided us as we drew upon our imaginations to create space for a meeting with Jesus…

I searched my mind for a place of comfort and safety, a place fitting for a rendezvous with Jesus. Woods near the home where I grew up flash in my mind, and disappear. The tree that grew in our back yard springs to my memory. I passed many hours nestled among the branches of that tree as a child, enclosed in shade and secrecy. But that place isn’t right either. My imagination drifts to the shores of Lake Michigan. The beach has always been a place of solace for me. As a girl when I was haunted by nightmares and jolted awake with fear, I lulled myself to sleep again with memories of the beach.

I am standing near the water’s edge, my feet bathed in the warmth of sand. I wiggle my toes and feel the grains slip through. The wind is blowing the hair from my face, and the rhythmic crashing of waves fills my ears.

I am alone.
And then I’m not.
Jesus is standing before me.

I look at his hands. Within them he holds a gift, so I open my hands to receive it. And as my hands unfold the gift is revealed.

She is so small and delicate, no bigger than my thumb. She is graceful, elegantly poised on tip toe, perfectly balanced on one tiny slipper. She is formed of transparent glass, and I can see the sand and water through her.

She is a tiny, glass ballerina.

My glass ballerina represents my dream, a dream so fragile and wonderful I fear I’ll destroy it. Why would God give me such a gift? Doesn’t he realize the risk he is taking?
In my hands she could break, her beauty reduced to shards of glass. And yet… if he thinks I am capable of carrying the dream, if he thinks my glass ballerina can dance… maybe I should too.

So I’ll hold onto my glass ballerina, and hope she doesn’t break.

Hos. 2:15 There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt.