Posts Tagged With: unfolding

Real Simple thoughts

I walked through the cold California morning air to my apartment and swung open the white gate.  I didn’t check the mail yesterday, so I slid the tiny key into my little mailbox.  The metal door creaked open and stuffed in the box were coupons, a bill and a plastic-wrapped Real Simple.  Yes.  The coffee was made (thanks, Sandy).  I moved my space heater from my room and positioned it in front of my chair.  With coffee poured into a turquoise tea cup, I settled down in front of the waves of heat and opened the magazine.

At the front, there is always a picture and a quote.  This month’s said

“Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.”

It made me thankful.  Thankful that this pursuit of being known and loved isn’t like finding a particular stone on a mountain, then taking it home and setting it on a mantle.  Thankful for the work of kneading love to make new loaves each day.  Thankful that there is more and more to taste and to discover.  It makes me think of the importance of making new memories.

I’m just really glad that life is this way–like bread and not a stone.  Being made new all the time.  That’s good news to me.

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Reflections on Gifts

Gifts are on my mind.

Today, I am wearing these earrings.

Joy, my cousin, gave them to me several years ago.  I cannot wear them without thinking about her.  This is one reason that I love to be on the receiving end of gift-giving.  I love to go about my daily business with eyes alighting on things that have been given to me.  Although beautiful and useful things bring me delight in themselves, my delight is doubled by the memory of the giver.  These earrings (or scarf or garlic press or sparkle pens, to name a few recent gifts) become icons– symbols that I can see and touch, wear and use which remind me of a person.  Of Joy, and my relationship to her, of the last time we were together, of the fact that she’s moved to a new city and is undertaking a new venture in her life.  The earrings remind me of the unanswered letter on my desk.

We just celebrated Christmas, and under my family’s tree were many boxes with bows and tiny tags naming their recipient.  There are many voices who cry against the materialism of our society and dismiss the practice of Christmas gift-giving as the invention of the toy makers.  At best, it is an ingenious marketing ploy to which we have all blindly fallen prey.  At worst, it is a sad attempt to prove our love buying our relative’s affections.  Certainly, such opinions have a point, but it seems like a pretty one-sided perspective to me.

I don’t want a Christmas that is about the packages under a tree, but neither can I escape the memory that the first Christmas was all about a gift.  So to demean and vilify the gift-giving practice, I think, is to throw out the baby with the bath water.

Gifts can’t be all bad.

The great divine initiative that God took to include us in His family through Jesus Christ is often proclaimed in Scripture as “the free gift of God.”  Before the toy-makers ever schemed, His hand was extended in loving-kindness, not to purchase our affection but to offer us something we couldn’t get on our own– fullness of life.

In the same way that I can’t wear these earrings without thinking of Joy, I can’t live by grace or walk in freedom without remembering Abba, His tenderness and His great love.  To receive gifts is to be human.

 

P.S.

I’m going to take a systems leap…


Premise One:  Without examination and reflection (or the direct intent of preservation), all things degenerate.  It’s the natural process of an aging, decaying world.

Premise Two:  To receive gifts is to be human.

Conclusion:  A blanket censure on gift-giving (whether birthdays, valentines, christmas, etc) is an anxious reaction.  There is a discrepancy (and therefore conflict, and therefore anxiety) between the way things/we are and the way things/we ought to be.  We are aware of this to some degree on a subconscious level.  We can’t handle the anxiety, so gifts get triangulated in and are scapegoated.

Not sure I can support that, just processing through some new lenses.

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a soul

and what a soul is
I believe we will never quite know
though we play at the edges of knowing

I’ve written before about that poem, and today I’m thinking about what my soul might look like.  I believe it might be like this rose, with pink tips, a glowing white center, and layers and layers of petals, each complicated and imperfect.  It is, at least, most like a flower because the general motion of my life has been unfolding.  Not onward or downward, not a spiral or a flight, but an unfolding.

When a rose blooms, she gives more–more fragrance, more color, more beauty–and she receives more from the world around her–heat, insects, lingering fingers and noses pressing in to breathe in her loveliness.

I hear my walls crumble and I feel my petals unfolding, like muscles relaxing.  I believe this is good.  I am surprised to find vulnerability so sound.  I want to keeping going.  I will trust this process because my eyes are captured by Who they see.

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