Hunkering Down, Holding On, and Wrapping Up

Today is Day 30. Thank you for being here for this series which ends tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a post of summary and surprise. Will you be here? There will be a bit of wrapping up. If you missed a post and would like to read the collective, it is here. Or click on the 31 Days Series 2012.

There is a bundling up on the horizon. These winds that blow, they howl.

There is a wind wailing, wind blustering.

And they gust and grasp, blistering with biting winds, swirling whirling, gusting blasts of artic, cold and cutting crisp.

The words huddle together and bundle up on the page. Shivering, shaking, trembling, quaking.

Cold, yet clustered in the sea of circumstance. The words still rattle and roll, knowing tomorrow comes, a conclusion, a closing an end in sight.

They perform a triage on the ones trumpeting the rallying cry, trumpeting their cause. And they choose for the day before the day of wrap up, circumstances and storms of life.

As the trees tremble, and as the world quivers and quakes, the storms of circumstance take their place in the series.

The natural life collides in the realm of the spiritual.

And the elements on the outside mirror the elements on the inside, of the life.

So we look to see how deep the roots have clung to the soil of Faith, the soul checks her face in the mirror and looks for signs of deep abiding.

Did we prepare for the storms of circumstance by resting in Him, abiding in Him, calling on Him, looking to Him?

All before the storms.

Did we fall on Him, lean on Him, learn of Him, read of Him, know of Him, cry out to Him, all before the storm?

And in the midst too. And right smack in the middle too. With a swirl and whirl and roar of the winds of challenge and change, are the roots clinging hard and fast in the soil. Is the soul rich in Him, in the nourishment and black rich soil of His hand. His offering.

Is the heart fixed on Praising in the midst and Praying in the middle, seeing in the circumstance the what is good and worthy of praise. That there was an element of saved from worse and saved from death.

That the giver of life gives sustenance in the storms, and the Light shines if even dim it shines, the Light of Grace. Mercy holds tight and fast to the soul feeling feint and weak.

Prayer whispered, prayer spoken, prayer humbled, quivering shaking from the lips of the wind blown traveller, they are the life-line, they tie the soul in the worst of it, the all of it. It is the language of the broken. It is the language of the healed.

Do the swells of the seas and bitter of the cold sting to a blistering or are we cupped in the hand and safe in the place of sheltering in the midst, in the middle, right in it?

Hunkering down and holding on, tethering to shore and tethering to a body, strong and bold holds us upright. Hunkering down in the warmth of the Christ-body, holding on to the Word and to the very hand of God, reaching down in the middle in the midst.

Wrapping up in Hope and Trust, bundling the soul in the expectancy of the calm after and the calming of His very breath and presence in the midst.

Don’t miss the very strengthening of the rocking soul in the seas of circumstance rolling in and down and on.

Don’t miss the strengthening of those who made it through and make it through and tell of stronger vessels for bracing and staying safe in all the turmoil, twisting and turning and spinning a soul.

There is safety in the harbor of Trust and Obey and it’s not a pollyanna children’s song. And its not a sugary simple served up platitude.

It is the very essence of the traveller in the storm. To huddle in the flock for warmth and safety, to stay where the Shepherd says to stay, to hear and follow the voice that guides and protects.

It is the body, when huddled and cradled and wrapped in Love and Encouragement that preserves its warmth and keeps the vital heat captured, fueling the life, fueling the heart and parts that beat and pulse, winds ahowling, winds awhipping all around.

And bending low while bowing the knee, the head to Him, calms her heart,  calms her spirit in the whirling wailing  blustering storm.

Was a heart prepared, is a heart preparing, does a heart prepare for all there is to come?

Nestled soundly in the arms, the warm embrace, of the Calmer of The Storms. The Lover of My Soul.

Oh to know the warmth in all He is and all He gives in the circumstances of  this life.

The buds are tight, holding expectancy and Hope.

And the blooms will burst on the limbs of tomorrow, in spite of the raging storms.

Hold on weary traveller.

Be strong pilgrim friend, look Heavenward trembling flock in the windswept tundras of this life.

The blooms are ripe and ready. The melting snow reveals the bloom.

The Christ is in this storm.


Joining Eileen and Jen.

There Is A Right Time For Everything On The Earth

I don’t know exactly why I stood and stared up at the clock at Union Station.

And found it to be so magical.

So filled with beauty and elegance. Dignity and strength.

But when I arrived at the very busy hub of humanity with the cavernous sense of wide openness mixed with a stirred up bunch of folks from everywhere, I slipped into a trance.

Almost like stirring up a wasp’s nest these travelers rush in and out, on a mission which is their life. On missions which are their lives.

And we were rushing, my group of four. We had so little time. Trying to see D.C. in hours. No way to do it justice. To invest in her beauty. But Time was not to be negotiated with. There was no stretching or extending or borrowing.

But now that I am home and I have time to process, to think back on almost a split second or two of hurriedly passing through Union Station, I have more clarity.

On why I wanted to stand and stare. The marbled elegance drew me in. Her architecture was strong and noble and proud.

But the picture I was determined to snap on the run tells me a story even now days later.

It speaks to me of the delicate nature of holding on to the minutes and moments which are our very days. Of capturing the seconds that tick past. Of holding hard to the time that we have. Cherishing and relishing the all of them.

When I study the photograph I have a sense of calm at the big strong clock face and the steel hands. They seem bold and sure. They have confidence in their telling of the exact time. And I now know exactly when I was there. They are marked these minutes and moments when I was rushing through the station.

They tell me when I stopped and clicked and when I was in awe of her telling. Her showing me time.

I now  wrestle with her, with Time.

Where to invest mine. Where to pour into what He gives me.

How to use my gifts with the Time I have left. When to go and when to stop. How to say yes and when to say no. She looks a little different to me now, Time.

He increases my awareness of the moments and minutes and days. Each measurement of a day is placed under the magnifying glass now. They look bigger and grander. They are more important than even before. The magnifying glass is a gift with which to see. And to gauge.  And then measure.

I am a steward of these grains, these particles, these fleeting fleeing moments of time which are my life.

My stewardship of His precious gift is important. The spending of it. The holding of it. And the loosing of it. The releasing it back to Him. The investing for Him. The seeking ways to serve Him.

I will not kill it, or hoard it. Time. I will not waste it. But rather  I will seek to  spend it wisely. To use it well. But in my own strength and with my own power I am powerless to steward well. It is only in seeking His strength and His wisdom that I can hope for even an ounce of discernment with which to spend it rightly.

So I seek Him to guide. Look to Him to lead. Ask Him to show what to do with the gift He has given. This one of my life, my time, my constantly shaping story.

I have come back home to  a problem which weighs heavy on my soul. It wants to joy-rob and time-steal. It seeks to take my eyes off of investing in the beautiful.

So I release it back to the Giver of all Good Gifts. And lay it down. Seeking His Mercy and His Wisdom. Asking Him to help number and order my days in a way that brings Him glory.

And I do not think He would mind, not even one little bit, if I dreamed of going back to Union Station to stand in awe. To rest. To stare. To wonder in amazement at the big bold beautiful representation of Time there mounted  nobly on the wall.

Looking out and looking forth.

She looks like a picture of Time and she looks beautiful to me.