Two nights ago I saw a glimpse of the eternal at Seattle Symphony, while listening to Rachmoninaff's "Rhapsody on a theme of Paginini." Actually I wasn't listening to Rachmoninaff at all I was hearing the cry of a human heart, hearing an emotion that was so full of yearning and desire that it could not be put into words, and seeing a tantalizing preview of heaven. I saw the Creator of Music and a tiny glimpse of his immeasureable glory and goodness, as yearned in my heart for the fulfillment of his promises and the redemption of this world.
(i had a much prettier and nicely perfected three paragraphs to post and then i accidently deleted them, so this is the short version of what I experienced)
Here are those three minutes of music that I have a hard time believing came from this world: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90MuPqYtV
Monday, November 24, 2008
Favourite Scripture
...Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfector of our faith, WHO FOR THE SAKE OF THE JOY THAT WAS SET BEFORE HIM ENDURED THE CROSS, disregarding its shame...
Monday, November 10, 2008
more Emily
This woman understood:
I SHOULD have been too glad, I see,
Too lifted for the scant degree
Of life’s penurious round;
My little circuit would have shamed
This new circumference, have blamed
The homelier time behind.
I should have been too saved, I see,
Too rescued; fear too dim to me
That I could spell the prayer
I knew so perfect yesterday,—
That scalding one, “Sabachthani,”
Recited fluent here.
Earth would have been too much, I see,
And heaven not enough for me;
I should have had the joy
Without the fear to justify,—
The palm without the Calvary;
So, Saviour, crucify.
Defeat whets victory, they say;
The reefs in old Gethsemane
Endear the shore beyond.
’T is beggars banquets best define;
’T is thirsting vitalizes wine,—
Faith faints to understand.
Emily Dickinson
I SHOULD have been too glad, I see,
Too lifted for the scant degree
Of life’s penurious round;
My little circuit would have shamed
This new circumference, have blamed
The homelier time behind.
I should have been too saved, I see,
Too rescued; fear too dim to me
That I could spell the prayer
I knew so perfect yesterday,—
That scalding one, “Sabachthani,”
Recited fluent here.
Earth would have been too much, I see,
And heaven not enough for me;
I should have had the joy
Without the fear to justify,—
The palm without the Calvary;
So, Saviour, crucify.
Defeat whets victory, they say;
The reefs in old Gethsemane
Endear the shore beyond.
’T is beggars banquets best define;
’T is thirsting vitalizes wine,—
Faith faints to understand.
Emily Dickinson
A leaf
One year only, given,
For caressing rays to warm
Your silky skin.
One year to flutter and twist
And writhe in storm, and rain,
And snow.
Once you have, to fall
And present yourself-
A seam in the golden-red
Carpet of your fellows-
A death, surpassing
Beauty of your life,
And raising to untold
Heights of glory
The humble earth.
I wrote this about a week ago. The view from my window is incredible right now. There are golden branches, red shading, and left-over hints of green across the street from me, and I can't help but feel joyful and a little sad when I see such beauty. Joyful, because sometimes the tiniest, most insignifcant things can be so beautiful they make you ache, and sad because each leaf has to die before we even notice how lovely they are. We walk underneath them everyday, lay in their shade, and yet we don't even really see them until they aren't alive anymore. In fact, they look so beautiful carpeting the ground around my feet that I can't help but be glad that they had to die. I guess that's why I love fall so much. Everything about the season is reminding us of death: our own future death, the death of leaves, and flowers, and the realization that winter is a long season. But in what could be a horrible time of reminder we instead have the honor of glorious showers of golden, red, pink, yellow, and brown leaves all around us to remind us that it is only through death: death to ourselves and ultimately, the death of Christ that we have the most amazing priviledge of life.
One year only, given,
For caressing rays to warm
Your silky skin.
One year to flutter and twist
And writhe in storm, and rain,
And snow.
Once you have, to fall
And present yourself-
A seam in the golden-red
Carpet of your fellows-
A death, surpassing
Beauty of your life,
And raising to untold
Heights of glory
The humble earth.
I wrote this about a week ago. The view from my window is incredible right now. There are golden branches, red shading, and left-over hints of green across the street from me, and I can't help but feel joyful and a little sad when I see such beauty. Joyful, because sometimes the tiniest, most insignifcant things can be so beautiful they make you ache, and sad because each leaf has to die before we even notice how lovely they are. We walk underneath them everyday, lay in their shade, and yet we don't even really see them until they aren't alive anymore. In fact, they look so beautiful carpeting the ground around my feet that I can't help but be glad that they had to die. I guess that's why I love fall so much. Everything about the season is reminding us of death: our own future death, the death of leaves, and flowers, and the realization that winter is a long season. But in what could be a horrible time of reminder we instead have the honor of glorious showers of golden, red, pink, yellow, and brown leaves all around us to remind us that it is only through death: death to ourselves and ultimately, the death of Christ that we have the most amazing priviledge of life.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Emily
A loss of something ever felt I-
The first that I could recollect
Bereft I was-of what I knew not
Too young that any should suspect
A Mourner walked among the children
I notwithstanding went about
As one bemoaning a Dominion
Itself the only Prince cast out-
Elder, Today, a session wiser
And fainter, too, as Wiseness is-
I find myself still softly searching
For my Delinquent Palaces-
And a Suspicion, like a Finger
Touches my Forehead now and then
That I am looking oppositely
For the site of the Kingdom of Heaven-
Emily Dickinson
The first that I could recollect
Bereft I was-of what I knew not
Too young that any should suspect
A Mourner walked among the children
I notwithstanding went about
As one bemoaning a Dominion
Itself the only Prince cast out-
Elder, Today, a session wiser
And fainter, too, as Wiseness is-
I find myself still softly searching
For my Delinquent Palaces-
And a Suspicion, like a Finger
Touches my Forehead now and then
That I am looking oppositely
For the site of the Kingdom of Heaven-
Emily Dickinson
Saturday, October 25, 2008
what's in a name?
After years of thinking that my name meant "contented one" and wrestling with all the issues that that implies (mostly because I am NOT contented), I found out about 15 minutes ago that my name actually means "weary, or grieved". I don't believe that the meaning of your name holds power over you or that you are doomed to follow what it dictates about your life, but i do think that names are important and can say a lot about who you are. This particular instance blew my mind because I have always found weariness something that I am much more comfortable with than I am with prolonged periods of joy. Part of this is due to the fact that when I am happy, I feel less able to empathize with the sorrows of my friends and those around me. I would rather feel weary and with them than be happy and not able to fully enter into the suffering with them. So yes, weariness and grief are a huge part of what I view as beautiful in my life. Its not like I particularly enjoy suffering any more than anyone else its just that I feel most connected to people when I am experiencing sorrow with them, than when I experience joy with them. And as a result, most of my beautiful memories have some anguish wrapped up in them. So what does this mean for me? A Leah? Well, I hope to truly find hope, truth, beauty, and joy in dark places. Dark places in my own life, and dark places in other's. I hope to some day be able to see the darkness rebuked and Light to fully dwell in this weary, weary world with its miserable, grieving people. And so when I see the poems and words I have written, I see weariness, but i also see a rejection that this is how it is supposed to be. I WILL see darkness rebuked, I will see weariness and grief removed, wiped from eyes, and I will see JOY reign in our hearts and lives again. Maybe someday my name will mean something else. In revelation it speaks about a name that God has specially chosen for each of us, so secret that noone but himself knows it. Someday I will hear him call my hame and I will know without a shadow of a doubt that weariness and grief will be just the faintest bit of who I was, and no longer who I am.
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