The Lord is my lover.
He tears at the holes of my soul.
As the day grows colder,
He comforts in the depth of the fire.
Daily--watching and waiting.
Oh, that I would beckon Him closer.
Temptations dance about.
His sovereign hand a castle without key.
Waiting, simply waiting.
Building me into a temple of purity [when I come].
I hunger and yearn.
I flee and I hide.
The lights begin to fade
There He stands,
Directing me into the darkness
Carrying me over the deep blue seas.
My future lies in Him.
And apart from my King,
I have no soul to be filled.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
thirty two days of bliss
For a long time Christmas has meant snowy days off of school, big family gatherings in small houses, and dozens of papery rapped presents. It was one of those times that sparkled with anticipation from December 26th until the toasty warm morning would arrive. We even had chocolate calenders to help us count down the days--a sweat gesture, as if we would forget!
Today these enchanting memories continue to boast of its coming presence and glimmers of excitement overflowing from my sore throat. What a paradox I find myself in as still these childhood delights knock at my being. Snow has already begun to envelope our house and in less than 16 hours our escape from school will begin. Our days will be packed with extended stays in Pennsylvania + Minnesota and already boxes have been filled with crisp new books and clean shirts. Even our chocolate calenders are looking shabbier by the day!
The arrival of such a humbling holiday has been on my mind for months. November 1st I locked my radio to the only Chicago station playing festive music till Christmas and I have yet to shift the dial. Whether it was the promise of family or the rest from nursing, the holiday has become a beckon towards rest + a call to find myself in the wonderful awe of the coming Christ child.
To think, some 2,000 years ago a young, young man + woman [16 or 17 years old] welcomed our King into this world as they sat in a barn. They offered the newborn straw and an old garment to keep him warm and as only a parent could understand, they loved him with all their might. Oh what excitement! Already my body yearns to belt out in Silent Night and to think deeply about that wondrous night. Let us find such gut retching joy in this birth that our days will no longer be the same.
'The greatest of kings. Born in the most humble of places. God, made into flesh'
Today these enchanting memories continue to boast of its coming presence and glimmers of excitement overflowing from my sore throat. What a paradox I find myself in as still these childhood delights knock at my being. Snow has already begun to envelope our house and in less than 16 hours our escape from school will begin. Our days will be packed with extended stays in Pennsylvania + Minnesota and already boxes have been filled with crisp new books and clean shirts. Even our chocolate calenders are looking shabbier by the day!
The arrival of such a humbling holiday has been on my mind for months. November 1st I locked my radio to the only Chicago station playing festive music till Christmas and I have yet to shift the dial. Whether it was the promise of family or the rest from nursing, the holiday has become a beckon towards rest + a call to find myself in the wonderful awe of the coming Christ child.
To think, some 2,000 years ago a young, young man + woman [16 or 17 years old] welcomed our King into this world as they sat in a barn. They offered the newborn straw and an old garment to keep him warm and as only a parent could understand, they loved him with all their might. Oh what excitement! Already my body yearns to belt out in Silent Night and to think deeply about that wondrous night. Let us find such gut retching joy in this birth that our days will no longer be the same.
'The greatest of kings. Born in the most humble of places. God, made into flesh'
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