In your weakness, I will keep you strong, My child. I am well aware of the many things in this life that war against your spirit and your soul. I know it feels like distractions and difficulties are sent daily to test your character and convictions. Remember, My love, this life is not a dress rehearsal. It's the real thing,a nd I'm training you through those tests to trust Me. I am preparing you today for your future life in heaven. So seek Me in prayer for My strength, and don't give in to temptation or compromise. They are like quicksand lying on your path to righteousness. Hold on to Me and My power within you, and I promise that you will make it through. When the wicked winds try to blow out the flame of your faith or try to cause you to compromise, stand on My truth...I am your solid Rock, and you can conquer anything in My strength.
Love,
Your King and your Rock
(from His Princess: Love Letters from your King)
Temptations that come into your life are no different from what others experience. And God is faithful. He will keep the temptation from becoming so strong that you can't stand up against it. When you are tempted, He will show you a way out so that you will not give in to it. 1 Corinthians 10:13
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Wisdom from Samwise
I love the Lord of the Rings trilogy for many reasons, but mostly because it speaks to something deep inside of me. I love the battle scenes, the deep poignant moments of love and tenderness, the moments of indecision and faith. It gets me every time because it is so real. Truly. What is the walk of life but this battle between truth and lies, between fighting for our own way or submitting to the Way, between deep wells of pain and euphoric moments of joy? The story of the Lord of the Rings is archetypal: good vs. evil, light vs. dark. But it is also so much more than that. So very very much more. I find what Samwise says near the end of the Two Towers so incredibly excellent:
"I can't do this, Sam."
"I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened? But in the end, its only a passing thing. This shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turnin' back only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding onto something."
"What are we holding onto, Sam?"
"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fightin' for."
Amen, Sam.
"I can't do this, Sam."
"I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened? But in the end, its only a passing thing. This shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turnin' back only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding onto something."
"What are we holding onto, Sam?"
"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fightin' for."
Amen, Sam.
Words
Isn't it funny how when something has deeply touched you, you have to share it with others? It is like the magnitude of it is not completely felt, even within yourself, until it finds a home in someone else. Well, that is what this blog is. Madeleine L'Engle, my favorite author of all time, (I guess I should clarify, God is my fave author, as He wrote the best Book ever, so L'Engle is second fave) has written a book contemplating the relationship amongst Christianity and art and life. And I have been slowly working through it, feeling my artist's soul being enlarged as I am able to relate so deeply with a woman who has walked this journey before me. Also reading Pensees by Pascal, and so I'll open this with a quote that pretty much sums up the human experience to me:
We never keep to the present. We recall the past; we anticipate the future as if we found it too slow in coming and were trying to hurry it up, or we recall the past as if to stay it's too rapid flight. We are so unwise that we wander about in times that do not belong to us, and do not think of the only one that does; so vain that we dream of times that are not and blindly flee the only one that is. The fact is that the present usually hurts. We thrust it out of sight because it distresses us, and if we find it enjoyable, we are sorry to see it slip away. We try to give it the support of the future, and think how we are going to arrange things over which we have no control for a time we can never be sure of reaching. Let each of us examine his thoughts; he will find them wholly concerned with the past or the future. We almost never think of the present, and if we do think of it, it is only to see what light it throws on our plans for the future. The present is never our end. The past and the present are our means, the future alone our end. Thus we never actually live, but hope to live, and since we are always planning how to be happy, it is inevitable that we should never be so.
Word up, Blaise. With that as the wallpaper, I read L'Engle pondering what it means to be an artist and a Christian, not ten years from now or even ten days from now, but now. She makes a statement that resonates with me:
And as I listen to the silence, I learn that my feelings about art and my feelings about the Creator of the Universe are inseparable. To try to talk about art and about Christianity is for me one and the same thing, and it means attempting to share the meaning of my life, what gives it, for me, its tragedy and its glory. It is what makes me respond to the death of an apple tree, the birth of a puppy, northern lights shaking the sky, by writing stories."
As creatures created by the Creator, we all have within us this desire to create, to give birth to something. No matter what your profession, your abilities and talents, a person breathes life into that which they do. We were created in His image; we create in turn. L'Engle says:
"In art, either as creators of participators, we are helped to remember some of the glorious things we have forgotten, and some of the terrible things we are asked to endure, we who are children of God by adoption and grace."
Art, like life, is all about listening, trying, succeeding, failing, not giving up. In Tchekov's letters, he says:
'You must once and for all give up being worried about successes and failures. Don't let that concern you. It's your duty to go on working steadily day by day, quite quietly, to be prepared for mistakes, which are inevitable, and for failures."
Is it not through our mistakes that we learn the most? Is life not lived by trial and error? It's all a process, and all about where the focus is. As an artist, I seek to bring beauty to the madness of the world. I seek to bring meaning to the seeming randomness of life. Why? Because that is what God did, does. Created in His likeness, I have that desire which drives the creative flow. I can't not paint, draw, create. I have to. In the world's eyes, is this reasonable? realistic? The 'starving artist' stereotype exists for a reason. But, I agree with L'Engle, "Surely it wasn't reasonable of the Lord of the Universe to come and walk this earth with us and love us enough to die for us and then show us everlasting life? We will all grow old, and sooner or later we will die, like the old trees in the orchard. But we have been promised that this is not the end. We have been promised life…the artist must be obedient to the command of the work, knowing that this involves long hours of research, of throwing out a month's work, of going back to the beginning, or, sometimes, scrapping the whole thing…and sometimes when we listen, we are led into places we do not expect, into adventures we do not always understand. " Anyway, all this to say, art is not just a picture on a wall, a work of fiction, a grand symphony. True art lifts you out of yourself, because when you see/hear/read true art, fantastic art, you are transported to that place that transcends the piece itself--the piece becomes besides the point and you truly engage with the reason for the piece, the Source of the piece. L'Engle says:
When the artist is truly the servant of the work, the work is better than the artist; Shakespeare knew how to listen to his work, and so he often wrote better than he could write; Bach composed more deeply, more truly than he knew; Rembrandt's brush put more of the human spirit on canvas than Rembrandt could comprehend.
When the work takes over, then the artist is enabled to get out of the way, not to interfere. When the work takes over, then the artist listens.
What is it saying? It speaks to us of the Lord. It speaks to us of a life we were made for, of the Garden we lost, of the hope restored in Christ, of an eternity to be. It transcends the apparent mundanity, travail, and anguish of our day-to-day existence, and lifts our souls to God. The work is not the point; it is a catalyst, a conveyance to the Point--God. To me, that is what is what it means to be an artist. To point others to Christ. To be a witness, with whatever the Lord has given me. L'Engle emphasizes:
"Often we forget that He has a special gift for each one of us, because we tend to weigh and measure such gifts with the coin of the world's market place. The widow's mite was worth more than all the rich men's gold because it represented the focus of her life. Her poverty was rich because all she had belonged to the living Lord. As Emmanuel, Cardinal Suhard says, "To be a witness does not consist in engaging in propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one's life would not make sense if God did not exist." The widow's mite and Bach's St. Matthew's Passion are both "living mysteries", both witness to lives which affirm the loving presence of God."
Whatever my hands find to do, may it be done for the Lord.
We never keep to the present. We recall the past; we anticipate the future as if we found it too slow in coming and were trying to hurry it up, or we recall the past as if to stay it's too rapid flight. We are so unwise that we wander about in times that do not belong to us, and do not think of the only one that does; so vain that we dream of times that are not and blindly flee the only one that is. The fact is that the present usually hurts. We thrust it out of sight because it distresses us, and if we find it enjoyable, we are sorry to see it slip away. We try to give it the support of the future, and think how we are going to arrange things over which we have no control for a time we can never be sure of reaching. Let each of us examine his thoughts; he will find them wholly concerned with the past or the future. We almost never think of the present, and if we do think of it, it is only to see what light it throws on our plans for the future. The present is never our end. The past and the present are our means, the future alone our end. Thus we never actually live, but hope to live, and since we are always planning how to be happy, it is inevitable that we should never be so.
Word up, Blaise. With that as the wallpaper, I read L'Engle pondering what it means to be an artist and a Christian, not ten years from now or even ten days from now, but now. She makes a statement that resonates with me:
And as I listen to the silence, I learn that my feelings about art and my feelings about the Creator of the Universe are inseparable. To try to talk about art and about Christianity is for me one and the same thing, and it means attempting to share the meaning of my life, what gives it, for me, its tragedy and its glory. It is what makes me respond to the death of an apple tree, the birth of a puppy, northern lights shaking the sky, by writing stories."
As creatures created by the Creator, we all have within us this desire to create, to give birth to something. No matter what your profession, your abilities and talents, a person breathes life into that which they do. We were created in His image; we create in turn. L'Engle says:
"In art, either as creators of participators, we are helped to remember some of the glorious things we have forgotten, and some of the terrible things we are asked to endure, we who are children of God by adoption and grace."
Art, like life, is all about listening, trying, succeeding, failing, not giving up. In Tchekov's letters, he says:
'You must once and for all give up being worried about successes and failures. Don't let that concern you. It's your duty to go on working steadily day by day, quite quietly, to be prepared for mistakes, which are inevitable, and for failures."
Is it not through our mistakes that we learn the most? Is life not lived by trial and error? It's all a process, and all about where the focus is. As an artist, I seek to bring beauty to the madness of the world. I seek to bring meaning to the seeming randomness of life. Why? Because that is what God did, does. Created in His likeness, I have that desire which drives the creative flow. I can't not paint, draw, create. I have to. In the world's eyes, is this reasonable? realistic? The 'starving artist' stereotype exists for a reason. But, I agree with L'Engle, "Surely it wasn't reasonable of the Lord of the Universe to come and walk this earth with us and love us enough to die for us and then show us everlasting life? We will all grow old, and sooner or later we will die, like the old trees in the orchard. But we have been promised that this is not the end. We have been promised life…the artist must be obedient to the command of the work, knowing that this involves long hours of research, of throwing out a month's work, of going back to the beginning, or, sometimes, scrapping the whole thing…and sometimes when we listen, we are led into places we do not expect, into adventures we do not always understand. " Anyway, all this to say, art is not just a picture on a wall, a work of fiction, a grand symphony. True art lifts you out of yourself, because when you see/hear/read true art, fantastic art, you are transported to that place that transcends the piece itself--the piece becomes besides the point and you truly engage with the reason for the piece, the Source of the piece. L'Engle says:
When the artist is truly the servant of the work, the work is better than the artist; Shakespeare knew how to listen to his work, and so he often wrote better than he could write; Bach composed more deeply, more truly than he knew; Rembrandt's brush put more of the human spirit on canvas than Rembrandt could comprehend.
When the work takes over, then the artist is enabled to get out of the way, not to interfere. When the work takes over, then the artist listens.
What is it saying? It speaks to us of the Lord. It speaks to us of a life we were made for, of the Garden we lost, of the hope restored in Christ, of an eternity to be. It transcends the apparent mundanity, travail, and anguish of our day-to-day existence, and lifts our souls to God. The work is not the point; it is a catalyst, a conveyance to the Point--God. To me, that is what is what it means to be an artist. To point others to Christ. To be a witness, with whatever the Lord has given me. L'Engle emphasizes:
"Often we forget that He has a special gift for each one of us, because we tend to weigh and measure such gifts with the coin of the world's market place. The widow's mite was worth more than all the rich men's gold because it represented the focus of her life. Her poverty was rich because all she had belonged to the living Lord. As Emmanuel, Cardinal Suhard says, "To be a witness does not consist in engaging in propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one's life would not make sense if God did not exist." The widow's mite and Bach's St. Matthew's Passion are both "living mysteries", both witness to lives which affirm the loving presence of God."
Whatever my hands find to do, may it be done for the Lord.
Food for Thought
Here are some snippets from a book I'm reading which is totally increds. Random quotes, but really good.
'When we are writing, or painting, or composing, we are, during the time of creativity, freed from normal restrictions, and are opened to a wider world, where colors are brighter, sounds clearer, and people more wondrously complex than we normally realize. Small children, knowing this freedom, do things which, to adults living in the grown-up world, are impossible. They see things which grown-up eyes cannot see. They hear things which fall on deaf ears with their parents. And they believe the things they do see and hear. And when, eager and unprepared, they describe these marvelous things, they are told, by kindly and reasonable and well-meaning parents, that they have vivid imaginations. Less understanding adults tell the children that whatever it is they think they have done, or seen, or heard is impossible. Some children are told to stop telling lies. Some are even punished.
We grow up and forget. Children are taught fear early, fear of water, fear of fire. Not that parents aren't right to warn…but there's a fine line between essential prudence for the child's sake, and the destruction of creativity. Allowing the child a certain amount of solitude in a reasonably safe environment is allowing the child's imagination to grow and develop, so that the child may ultimately learn how to be mature. Traherne says, "We do not ignore maturity. Maturity consists in not losing the past while fully living in the present with a prudent awareness of the possibilities of the future.'
'Ridicule is a terrible witherer of the flower of imagination. It binds us where we should be free.'
'The Jews would not willingly tread upon the smallest piece of paper in their way, but took it up; for possibly, said they, the name of God may be upon it. Though there was a little superstition in this, yet truly there is nothing but good religion in it, if we apply it to man. Trample not on any; there may be some work of grace there, that thou knowest not of. The name of God may be written upon that soul thou treadest on; it may be a soul that Christ thought so much of as to give His precious blood for it; therefore, despise it not.—Coleridge'
'To pray is to listen also, to move through my own chattering to God, to that place where I can be silent and listen to what God may have to say. But, if I pray only when I feel like it, God may not choose to speak. The greatest moments of prayer come in the midst of fumbling and faltering prayer, rather than the odd moment when one decides to try to turn to God.'
'When we are writing, or painting, or composing, we are, during the time of creativity, freed from normal restrictions, and are opened to a wider world, where colors are brighter, sounds clearer, and people more wondrously complex than we normally realize. Small children, knowing this freedom, do things which, to adults living in the grown-up world, are impossible. They see things which grown-up eyes cannot see. They hear things which fall on deaf ears with their parents. And they believe the things they do see and hear. And when, eager and unprepared, they describe these marvelous things, they are told, by kindly and reasonable and well-meaning parents, that they have vivid imaginations. Less understanding adults tell the children that whatever it is they think they have done, or seen, or heard is impossible. Some children are told to stop telling lies. Some are even punished.
We grow up and forget. Children are taught fear early, fear of water, fear of fire. Not that parents aren't right to warn…but there's a fine line between essential prudence for the child's sake, and the destruction of creativity. Allowing the child a certain amount of solitude in a reasonably safe environment is allowing the child's imagination to grow and develop, so that the child may ultimately learn how to be mature. Traherne says, "We do not ignore maturity. Maturity consists in not losing the past while fully living in the present with a prudent awareness of the possibilities of the future.'
'Ridicule is a terrible witherer of the flower of imagination. It binds us where we should be free.'
'The Jews would not willingly tread upon the smallest piece of paper in their way, but took it up; for possibly, said they, the name of God may be upon it. Though there was a little superstition in this, yet truly there is nothing but good religion in it, if we apply it to man. Trample not on any; there may be some work of grace there, that thou knowest not of. The name of God may be written upon that soul thou treadest on; it may be a soul that Christ thought so much of as to give His precious blood for it; therefore, despise it not.—Coleridge'
'To pray is to listen also, to move through my own chattering to God, to that place where I can be silent and listen to what God may have to say. But, if I pray only when I feel like it, God may not choose to speak. The greatest moments of prayer come in the midst of fumbling and faltering prayer, rather than the odd moment when one decides to try to turn to God.'
Random Stuff I wrote last year
So, get this. I got a nice loud knock on the door today from our friendly neighborhood fireman who informed me that we were in violation of a city ordinance. We have had parking issues like a fox ( ;)jessica--that's for you!) since November since apparently we live right on the city limit for Minneapolis. So, on one side of our street, we couldn't park from 3a-7a from Nov.3 to Apr. On the side our house is on, the St. Anthony side, we can't park from 3a-7a from Nov.15 to Apr.15, when the moon is full and a black cat runs parallel to the street while chasing a grey mouse holding a piece of cheese, every other week and twice on Tuesday. So, you know, it's been a slice trying to figure out. With 8 cars between us and our duplex-mates, we've been playing a sweet game of musical cars. Our history with cars up here the past few years has been a true comedy of errors. We thought we had a brilliant beyond brilliant plan of sticking some cars in the backyard, but oh, we were so wrong. Apparently, according to friendly fire guy, someone in the neighborhood reported us and 4 other houses for code violations. Which begs a few questions: 1) why does this person care? You really can't see the cars from the street, and we only do it overnight. 2) And, how is he so familiar with obscure city codes that he would drive around to 'do your job for you' as he told the firedude, who then felt obligated to come warn me. He said if it happens again, he'll tow. Now that, I'd like to see. How on earth would they get a tow truck back there?But I wouldn't put it past them. We've got one heck of a history in that department. I suppose though, a code is a code. The fireguy had been banging on our door for awhile, I guess, but I was downstairs, so I didn't hear him. When I finally came up, he was like, "Oh were you sleeping?" Umm, no. It's 12pm. I think he thought I was going to give him major tude, but I was just like, great. One more parking thing. Welcome to the saga. So, anyway, the only way we can get around this is to gravel our FRONT YARD to park cars. Lame-o. Big time lame-o. I feel bad for our landlords: they are first-timers, and its been real fun trying to get ahold of them too. So, we decided to just chuck it all and trade in our cars for mopeds and park them back there. Apparently, according to the the city ordinance info sheet the fireman was so kind to give me, mopeds are not considered 'vehicles'. So we can park a billion back there and no one can say a darn thing about it. The issue with mopeds is, well, it will be lots of fun driving to work in a blizzard--we'll look like the dudes in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles when they ride in the back of the truck and their faces get frozen. If anyone has any suggestions, we'd love to hear them. Apart from parking on our roof, we are plum out of ideas. We're pretty much up crud creek without a paddle here. We know God will figure it out, and we harbor no ill-will against the neighborhood tattler (although would like to ask him a few questions) but this is getting so out of control, it has almost gone from really irritating and worry-provoking to absolutely ridiculous. Laughable. Hey, you gotta laugh or you'll cry, right? Oh, let the good times roll....
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