My Heart—Your Bethlehem

Christmas is either an inconvenient outrage or an experience so deeply spiritual that no matter how many impostors—death, divorce, estrangement, loneliness, or broken promises—have violated the holiday itself, there is a deeper thing, a sort of epiphany that converts us year after year from the self-pity of the moment to a “new birth,” of the only Deity who was born crying in the night for us all.

There has hardly been a Christmas, since I was able to perceive Christmas, that hasn’t pulled me into some soul-shaking insight that has become a part of my experience.  The following lyric was one such epiphany. It was the revelation that the God-child must be planted in me, and that I must be as willing as Mary to bear its ballooning dimensions and face whatever scorn or misunderstanding it may take to carry this inception to its final conclusion. In the process I myself will be filled with the wonder of being chosen and bow my heart to worship in awe of something God has caused me to conceive.  I, too, not only must journey to the place my personal history charted for me, but I also must not lose sight of the star as I go; I must believe angels without question.  This birthing of God in me is not just for me, but also for others; and this birthing is not just for others, but also for me.  In the incubation and delivery process, I, too, will be born, and born, and reborn.                                                             

My Heart Would Be Your Bethlehem

My heart would be your Bethlehem,
A shelter for your birth;
My body be your dwelling place, 
A sacred temple on this earth.
By holy intervention, 
An act of the divine;
In union with mortality
Make incarnation mine. 

 My will would bow in wonderment
Struck silent by the awe
Of angel’s visitation 
That wakes my slumbering heart at dawn
With some annunciation 
My soul could magnify;
Begin in me a holy seed 
That I cannot deny.

 My mind would make a pilgrimage
Wherever promise shines;
Illuminate eternal things 
That I might not mistake the sign.
No matter what it costs me –
Be journey long or far,
Oh, may I trade all treasure rare
For following your star.

 My heart, my will, my mind, my all
I consecrate to bring
The holy Son of God to earth,
Oh, let the angels sing!

This Christmas I wish for you a fresh life-molding epiphany!  May the Incarnation be much more than a sweet story, but a personal recommitment to let this God who reaches for us be incubated in us and delivered to the world, no matter the cost. The cost may get greater as history unfolds, but our very souls must be His dwelling place and His message of transforming love our life force.

Lyric: Gloria Gaither
Music: William J. Gaither and J.D. Miller
© 1991 Gaither Music Company,
Life Gate Music and Lojon Music

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Slippers and Running Shoes

A luxury afforded Bill and me at this juncture of our lives is most days to own the first couple of hours of the day.  We can actually put on slippers, wrap up in our warm robes, and leisurely drink our coffee, read the paper and our inspirational books, and discuss everything from new revelations and insights to Pacer basketball editorials and the current headlines.  We then make the bed together and get ready for the day.

The other morning, I noticed Bill just standing there by his bathroom closet, dressed and ready, but rocking back and forth in his new walking shoes.  He was smiling.

“What?”  I said, waiting for him to deliver a bit more information.

“I love these shoes,” he finally said.

“And...?” I asked.

“Well, I love drinking my coffee with my slippers on, but when I put on these shoes, I shift into another gear.  My brain clicks into excitement for whatever comes today.”

He smiled again, quit rocking on his cushy running shoes, and then left for the office.

That left me to process this weird behavior.  Just maybe, I thought, there is a balance, a lovely rhythm to the intake—output of life.  I am coming to believe that both are so necessary.  Just maybe to start off into the flurry of activity without any intake may not only be unhealthy, but may leave the mind and heart gasping for spiritual and emotional oxygen somewhere in the middle of the day’s demands. To spiritually and relationally stretch and breathe deeply, take in the beauty of gratitude, to inhale the fresh gift of one more day, to just BE before we hasten off to DO, changes our perspective and widens our sensitivities to all good things to come. Maybe it is as necessary as stretch conditioning before a physical workout.

But there also comes a time to use that fresh energy to “run the race,” to kick off our slippers and appreciate the bounce in the running shoes of life.  It works both ways.  Too much lounging in slippers and not enough running shoes makes our leg muscles antropy; the blood never gets pumping to our brains—or the contemplation to our souls.  Yet too much running around in frantic flurry of activity without quiet intake, spending time with the lover of our hearts, absorbing the wisdom from that “still small voice” that speaks peace produces little but stress, exhaustion, and frustration.

I can’t help thinking of the “run the race” metaphor from Saint Paul, who advises us to rid ourselves of encumbrances, things that hinder and entangle, and do some deep breathing and changing of our aspirations, setting our goals on much higher expectations.  Then when we kick off the slippers and tie on our running shoes, Paul inspires us to run with determination and endurance, knowing that there is a stand full of accomplished veteran runners who have “finished the race” cheering us on. The promise is that if we fix our eyes on the “pioneer and perfecter of our faith,” who is empowering us with the fresh air of victory, “we will not grow weary and lose heart.”

Too long in slippers makes for too little running. But too little slipper time makes for purposeless running.  It’s almost never either/or.  It’s almost always both/and.  Isn’t there a shoe called new balance?  Oh, I so hope to find it!

A valentine for the love of your life.

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Daring to Prune

This is the season for renewal.  It is a time when old, spent foliage is sloughed off to make way for new buds to form.  It is a time for pruning while the sap still lies deep enough in the plant that the useless branches and parasitic suckers can be lopped off without damage to the healthy central core.

Late last fall I cut back severely the grapevines that grow on the grape arbor we built several years ago over the millstone walk leading to our backdoor.  (Our kids and grandkids have always loved eating their way in grapes into our kitchen.)  We had put off the pruning too long because we love the cozy vine-shelter over the walk in the hot summer, and we have paid for that misplaced kindness in grape harvest. Last August just a few anemic orbs were there to be tasted.  It was time.  Past time.

This winter we have felt bare and exposed as we went into the house.  The seasoned old grapevine trunk has shivered in the snow like swollen arthritic kneecaps and elbow joints exposed to the elements.  But, come spring, life – insistent, vibrant – will burst from these old gnarled roots.  Wild new sprouts will begin to wind themselves around the cables we’ve stretched between the timbers and make their way to the strong framework of wire overhead.  By hot weather great clusters of purple and red fruit will dangle above our heads exuding that rich aroma of communion I remember from childhood’s sacred celebrations.

 This time of year I’m thinking about other kinds of new growth and new sprouts and young vines that, full of glorious life and freedom, can wind their way across chasms, spanning empty cold spaces, bridging gaps with love and the sweet aroma of fellowship.  I’m longing for the people of God to find in a fresh new way to “taste and see that the Lord is good” and, being “rooted and grounded in love,” be “able to take in with all Christians the extravagant dimensions of Christ’s love.”

 I’m longing in my own heart to experience a new burst of courage to leave my comfort zones to  “Reach out and experience the breadth!  Test its length!  Plumb the depths!  Rise to the heights!  Live full lives, full in the fullness of God.” (Eph. 3:17b-19 The Message)  I want to dare to prune away old attitudes and preconceived ideas knowing that in the warm days ahead the fruit of bridge-building grace and mercy and love will be so plentiful and sweet it will drip down our arms for the sheer joy of it!

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