A Sword in God's Hand

My Granny died yesterday, unexpectedly, only weeks after her husband, my Grandaddy, passed away. I think of it more as passing through, as if crossing a river; from Jordan to the promised land, for those who call on Jesus for second life. I believe that this life gives way to another, more real life. Does the separation of losing loved ones to that other side still hurt? Yes. It hurts like hell, sometimes.

Experiencing loss in the past few years, my heart has found comfort in beauty, in the hope of heaven, in reading God's word, and the kindness of friends and family. I find beauty and comfort in words, as well. Writing or reading them, it doesn't matter; one expression, the other reception. I feel so clumsy with words, yet I don't care because I take such delight in them, as a child.

One such passage that brings a smile to my face and peace to my heart is the one below, by one of my most beloved authors, C.S. Lewis.

C.S. Lewis, grieving the death of his wife, Joy (H):

Praise is the mode of love which always has some element of joy in it. Praise in due order; of Him as the giver, of her as the gift. Don't we in praise somehow enjoy what we praise, however far we are from it? I must do more of this. I have lost the fruition I once had of H. And I am far, far away in the valley of my unlikeness, from the fruition which, if His mercies are infinite, I may some time have of God. But by praising I can still, in some degree, enjoy her, and already, in some degree, enjoy Him. Better than nothing.

     But perhaps I lack the gift. I see I've described H. as being like a sword. That's true as far as it goes. But utterly inadequate by itself, and misleading. I ought to have balanced it. I ought to have said, 'But also like a garden. Like a nest of gardens, wall within wall, hedge within hedge, more secret, more full of fragrant and fertile life, the further you entered.'

     And then, of her, and of every created thing I praise, I should say, 'In some way, in its unique way, like Him who made it.'

     Thus up from the garden to the Gardener, from the sword to the Smith. To the life-giving Life and the Beauty that makes beautiful.

     'She is in God's hands.' That gains a new energy when I think of her as a sword. Perhaps the earthly life I shared with her was only part of the tempering. Now perhaps He grasps the hilt; weighs the new weapon; makes lightnings with it in the air. 'A right Jerusalem blade.'

   ~ From A Grief Observed

I love you, Granny. Grandaddy too. I look forward with joy to our reunion. Nothing can keep us apart. 

The Book of Life

Another journal entry... maybe I'll just save a step and make this blog my journal. (Kidding.) I hope this thought touches your very soul, as it did mine:

When time is over, God is not going to open the book of law to see who kept the law by their own strength. He's going to open the book of Life, to see whose names are written there. Jesus IS the book of life!

Isaiah 49

¹³ Sing, O heavens!
      Be joyful, O earth!
      And break out in singing, O mountains!
      For the LORD has comforted His people,
      And will have mercy on His afflicted.

¹⁴ But Zion said, "The LORD has forsaken me,
       the Lord has forgotten me." 

 ¹⁵ "Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
       and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
       Though she may forget,
       I will not forget you!

   ¹⁶ See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands;

      Your walls are continually before Me.

My name has been written - inscribed - in the book of Life. My name was inscribed  - written - on the  palms of His hands as He was crucified, thinking of me. The Book of Life is the only way into  heaven. Heaven's life. Abundant life. And the Father. And Jesus, Messiah, is that book.

John 14

⁶ Jesus said to him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. 

No one comes to the Father except through Me."

Be Kind. Unwind!

Ah me. It's a sunny yet blustery day in this little corner of south Florida, a chilly 55 degrees (slightly stretched use of the word chilly here), with winds at 17 mph, gusting to 23! Not the most ideal day to lounge in a chair on the patio and finish Julia Child's "My Life in France," but it is, after all, only a week until my sister-in-law's wedding day, and if I'm going to stand beside four other spray-tanned ladies, then 55 degrees just became perfect sunning weather.

So after my wonderful husband went off to work today, I donned a black ruffled strapless bikini top and my cozy blue polka dot fleece P.J. pants, rolled above my knees, grabbed a blanket and Julia, and flew to France for a while, courtesy of air imagination. Of course I had to rotate the blanketed chair to where the sun was perfectly shining. I have no desire to be shaded by our screened porch's skeleton today! Absolute sunlight. Charming book. I consumed the last few chapters as my coconut-coated skin soaked up some greatly needed vitamin D.

When Julia described returning to their retreat in Marseilles, I couldn't help but reminisce about our first few weeks in St. John:

"...once we settled into our satisfying little house there was no question, we'd stay put. Our zest was worn out. We needed to be incognito, do nothing but sleep late, eat well, and enjoy the sound of the cuckoos and the smells of the countryside. But we were so keyed up that it took at least a week to adjust to our peaceful surroundings."

- Julia Child, My Life in France Pg. 285 (Knopf)

It's so true that there is an undoing process that happens as one adjusts to the island life. It goes unnoticed in the city, but sometimes all that energy and traffic translate into stress and impatience. The country or island lifestyle is so much slower paced, one is naturally unwound to an easy, peaceful mood. How I miss that feeling when my days get hectic with "important" errands!

I would love to return to the islands someday, and stay in the cabins at Maho Bay, spending nights eating freshly barbecued chicken or taking pottery throwing lessons, spending days in the soft sand and calm water, a shade of blue that cannot be contained in a photograph; it must be experienced, taken in with the spirit through those trusty - or not so trusty! - windows to the soul.

A dear friend of mine reminded me just yesterday, that the most peaceful moments are found in nature, be it on a cozy chair drinking tea, or walking at the seashore... God is there, in those moments. It is His peace that envelopes us through the glorious beauty that man tries so hard to cover, contain or kill. But it is still there, outside our fenced houses, in quiet, colorful solitude. It waits for us to discover and find pleasure in its beauty. What a nice thing to remember as - for once - I slowed down to rest my body and mind. This is the life simple. The life lovely. The life beautiful.

The End