Winter has finally arrived! It has gone from gentle flirtations of cold days and flurries to banging on our door like a scorned lover by giving us about a foot of snow in just over 24 hours. I love this season. Seconded to only summer, it is the season for hats and scarves and sleds and dreaming. When I was young I would wake up and sprint the few short steps to the window to lay eyes on the newly formed thick blanket of white, spread out upon the ground like a heavy duvet on a king size bed. I would long for the outdoors, long to be lost in snow’s wonder and beauty, seeing how it changed the landscape and made all things soft and approachable. That little girl has never left and remains in my bones today. Once free from work, yesterday, this little girl bolted home, donned boots and a hat and went for a walk. Giddy with every step she lost track of time and despite the mess in her apartment, the dishes that were piled in her sink and the dinner that was not yet even taken out of the freezer, she was gone for more than two hours.

As I wandered the streets in the snow and marveled at how empty and changed the city was I knew that I was at the mercy of a creative God and was deeply humbled by His jealous love and furious longing. I figured that this walk was a good opportunity to just have a good chat with God and catch up, as these past few months have left me with few words and not much strength to speak them with. I started off being thankful, I guess because that was how I was taught to pray. You get God’s attention when you flatter his ego and remind Him how good He has been to you lately in hopes that He might come to your aid or give you more. As usual I started off with the superficial things, money to pay rent, a warm bed…my hat…my ill-fitting jacket…salvation and, finally, snow. But when I got to the snow part everything changed. It was almost as though God was waiting for me to run out of superficial things to thank Him for, for me to just stand there awkwardly as I tried to come up with something to fill the silence, because that was when He broke through. It was like he had said that He sent the snow because He knew that I needed to see something other than the rain that had been falling on my soul in the midst of the troubles that this fall had afforded me. It was as if He had peeled back the curtain and I could all at once see His creativity and greatness.

Snow is simply rain redefined into tiny crystals that collect on the ground and change the landscape. I began to ask God what kind of miracle this was, I mean it was only water and as my heart began to get bored with the conversation, it was like God was saying, “You can be busy all you want and fill your life with things that have no real purpose, but if I want I can slow you down and make all that is important to you change at a moments notice.” As I shook off the fear of that thought I began to see that it was true. People had come into the city that morning with a purpose and a sense of urgency, they had lists, appointments and deadlines and within a few hours it had all fallen apart. Where there was urgency, a sense of slowness had taken over, where there was appointments a longing for home had developed and as I took a good look around I realized that the city was eerily empty. It was amazing for me to think that in this huge city, filled with people going all over the place, bowing to their agendas and worshipping their busyness, the God of all had broken through and quieted it. It was scary and eye opening at the same time because I realized that even my own plans had been changed that afternoon because of the snow.

At that point the conversation in my heart went something like this. “Okay God, that is pretty cool. Thanks for that.” But as I crossed the street I knew that there was something more that God wanted to show me. And that just as He had used to snow to gear down the roaring city He was about to do the same with me. Without my permission He reached into my heart and began to show me what I think He had been longing to show me for months. The truth is I have always believed that God with me, that He will never leave me, that I will never be alone and that when I face my darkest days He is there standing beside me. But I have never really understood the concept that He is in me and I in Him. Last year I tried to so hard to understand this concept and to live it but to no avail. But in this moment I began to truly understand.

A few days back I had expressed to a friend how I wished that I were talented and beautiful and someone who could be desired. This conversation came back to me in that moment and I knew what I had said was wrong. I knew that if God had exchanged His life for mine then what I had just done was call him untalented, unbeautiful and undesirable. Imagine that. The God that sent the snow that now covered an entire city and was capable of slowing its pace was, in my eyes, untalented and undesirable. The God that was creative enough to give us snow in the first place was stripped bare of all His beauty in just a simple conversation. Simply because I had failed to see that He was the same God who lived and breathed in me and that it was no longer I who lived my life but Him. My heart was truly grieved at the thought of this and I wondered at what had caused me to think this way. As I walked the few blocks left to my apartment buildling I asked myself what was it that had me so scared about being beautiful, talented and desired? As I rode the elevator to the eleventh floor and walked down my hallway I realized that if I truly believed that I was all of these things simply because He had made it so, I would have to live differently. I would have to live as one who had worth, beauty, talent and the like. I would have to give up my pursuit of finding all of those things in temporary places and find it in what truly matters, the words spoken by a savior who gave His life so that mine could have meaning. I would have to give the death penalty to all those lies that I had let in my heart and believe, even though the world doesn’t want me to and there is a hesitation in my typing even now, that I am beautiful, talented and worthy of so much more than I give myself credit for. I would have to die in the arms of the God who pursues so that all of who He is can shine through me as He resuscitates my stilled heart. And I know that death scares me.

But the more I think, the more I realize how important and true that idea is. In old English a slang term for sex is actually “dying inside each other”. Ponder that for a second. As awkward as that may be to think about, there is no greater physical intimacy than sex, it is as close as two humans can come to breaking the laws of physics and occupying the same space. Which, in its essence is not unlike this idea of an indwelling God. To die means to be in complete union. One. Which is where I know I must be headed if this journey with me and my God will ever have longevity. If I will ever find any worth or beauty or talent for myself it will only be when I die to where my flesh wants to go and let Jesus live my life and shine where perhaps I cannot. As I sat on my bed and watched the snow fall I began to cry at how beautiful that whole concept was. How Jesus had humbled Himself from Heaven to meet me on the Cross where I was already dying and take my place so that He could give me victory and His life. His. Life. Not mine, that flounders when turmoil hits, that flutters from lover to lover, that needs constant approval and attention to be found beautiful, but His life that is abundant, beautiful simply because He wills it so and constant because He is rooted in something other than the landslide that is this world. That is what I want, and that is what I have now that I understand that it is no longer me who is living.

I died last night and what amazing freedom to know it. Now when I meet someone on the street I pray that they would meet Jesus in my clothing, when I deal with that guy at work who makes me so angry I just want to cry may He be met with the compassion of Jesus, when I look in the mirror and beat myself down because I am soon to be 24 and still have acne and haven’t lost a single pound in more than 6 months may Jesus look back at me and tell me that I am beautiful simply because He is and now lives inside me, when I am tempted to down play all of my strengths and capabilities may I be reminded that who I am really tearing down is the God who gave them to me in the first place.

And from now on when it snows, may I be reminded of the walk that lead to my new found freedom in death and the reality that no matter how busy we are and no matter how many things are on our to do list we are all at the mercy of a God who has the means and creative power to step in and change our course and quiet us. May death no longer hold any fear for me, because I am already dead, ready to be made alive again in oneness with my risen and indwelling Savior. May His light be what shines through me, may His beauty become my beauty, His love, my love. And most importantly, may His life become my life and He lives and breathes in my place. May I die happy, knowing that to live life any other way would be foolishness.

Thoughts on laundry...

Do you have one of those shirts?

Maybe they are a pair of pants? Or a blouse?

A piece of clothing that has been washed so often it is faded and worn thin.

You took care of it, but it needed to be washed. You've worn it so many times.

Maybe it is the same with our hearts. They need to be washed and made clean.

Oh and they've been washed alright.

Oh, so many times.

Cleansed from sin and darkness.

The stains of rebellion, hatred and self-preservation.

Made whiter than snow, so the Bible tell us.

And after each washing harnesses less and less force against movement.

Almost relaxed, almost weak.

Maybe that is where our hearts need to be, washed so many times of dirt and grime that

it no longer holds its own.

Doesn't the seamstress wash the cloth before she sews it,

fashions it into a beautiful garment?

Maybe that is where our hearts need to be.

After all, when you hold a washed and worn piece of cloth up to the light

it can't help but shine it's light bright and true...

Psalm 46:10

Cease Striving and Know that I am God….

With these words my weekend was turned upside down. I was reading a book and there was this verse, in the middle of the page. I can’t even recall what the rest of the book was about, if

I were to be perfectly honest because this verse stopped me in my tracks. It is one of those “cutesy” verses that I have always just looked over, partly because almost every “Christian” household has it plastered on a magnet on the corner of the fridge or over the doorway into the living room. Don’t get me wrong. I agree with this verse but with all of its over-publicity I haven’t really had time to digest the meaning. In fact in my recent read of the Psalms this verse doesn’t even make my Top 10 list and sits there on the page without the additive of highlighter or pen. But this time it jumped off the page and cut right through my heart. Thank you Brennan Manning for putting it in your book. I would have continued to miss it if you hadn’t.

I won’t lie about the fact that I have felt a struggle in my spirit for quite sometime and that I haven’t been able to pin point whatever is wrong and that has made all matters worse. I know that the Almighty is trying to fix something in my heart and for some reason I am not letting Him and I just don’t know why. Every time I lay something at His feet I watch as I, myself, become the thief in the night and steal it back. I am left with a rebellious heart and a dishonest spirit and the shame of that is killing me. I hate what I have watched myself become and yet I want to change with no idea how. I just don’t feel anything working (prayer, worship, silent mediation, reading the scriptures). I think that I feel, quite often, like I am standing the midst of someone else’s life asking, “How did I get here?” I feel like at any moment the Lord of Heaven and Earth is going to descend from the Heavens and gather those whom He loves and take them away and that I will be left standing with the memory of His voice saying, “Sorry, but I did not know you.”

I think that is why this verse stood out at me so. Read it again. Did you catch that? It says and KNOW that I am God. Not feel that I am God or think about me being God. It is a command to make my brain submit to the Father and simply know that He is God. And that in order to be God, you have to be in control of quite a lot. In order to be God you have to have seen, both, the beginning and end of time, you have to know the weight of the skies and how many water droplets are in each cloud at any given moment. You also have to discern between the wicked and the devoted, between the desires of the heart and the desires of the flesh. You have to be so full of love for the Earthlings that you created you would part with your one and only Son and send Him to die a degrading death on a cross as the means to restore them back to you.

I live in a world with so much emphasis on how “I feel” that this concept is startling and foreign. How could I just know that He is God? That He has everything under control? How could I just blindly trust like that? Excuse me, but don’t you know that this is my life and my one shot? This is all I have, I don’t get another turn…

But in thinking on this verse and just letting it wash over me, I think that the first part of it answers those questions. Cease striving is what it says. To strive is to fight vigorously against something or, in this case, someone. I get this mental image of an infant refusing a bottle. Fighting with every ounce of strength they have, using their limbs as weapons, screaming at the top of their lungs and refusing to accept what is good, nourishing and most of all calming. Another translation says “Be still.” In other words stop your squirming and hollering and just accept what I want to give you. Calm down, stop fighting, get out of the way and just accept the fact that I am God. I know how many hairs are on your head and how many have turned grey with all your worrying. Yes, I know the thorn in your heart, I can see it and I’m trying to pull it out so that the pain will stop and so that you can heal. I’m only trying to hold you close until the storm passes, please let me be the shield. I am the only thing that will truly protect you. Stop fighting and just know that I am God so that I can take care of everything for you. I can do this, I have done this thousands of times before and will do it one thousand times more.

I think this means that if we just stop all of our arguing and that small voice inside our hearts that steers us toward rebellion and refusal of what God is trying to do we can simply know that He is God. And in knowing that He is God we can find peace. And I know that I need to find peace. Perhaps it is my striving with God that is keeping this uneasiness in my soul.

Maybe if I just calmed down a bit and turned off the lies for a while and just let go then God could do His work and I could see that He is God, that He has always been God and that He knows what He is doing, even if I don’t have a clue, which is pretty often.

May that be my prayer, that my fists would drop from my hips and that my teeth would unclench and that my body would just relax regardless of the imperfection that constantly stares back at me in the mirror and the rebellious pull that I feel from this life. And in that find that He is God and trust that He makes wars cease, that He breaks the bow and shatters the spear (Psalm 46:8), and that He will be exalted in all the earth (the rest of Psalm 46:10) and that He is the Lord Almighty who is with us and is our fortress (Psalm 46:11).

Thanksgiving...

This past weekend was thanksgiving, it was a chance to reflect on how blessed we are and the love that surrounds us so deeply, like way the ocean in it's magnitude surrounds a fish or a great white shark. This marks my first holiday on my own. And for some reason I found it hard to be thankful. Not just because I spent the actual day at Starbucks alone and watching a Shakespearean tragedy, but because something was amiss in my heart. I had made a date with some friends to celebrate Thanksgiving on Thursday with a meal and just some fellowship and it felt good. In fact I had a wonderful day. But it wasn't until my friends had left and the dishes were drying my counter that I realized what was missing. And I found it shocking.

I realized that while I had been thankful of the means to provide a meal for my beloved friends and "Montreal family" (food, a home, a love of cooking) I wasn't thankful for the faithful love of a God who makes my life a reality and not just a hope or an aspiration. As I dug a little deeper into the depths of my heart I began to realize that it wasn't selfishness that was driving my lack of appreciation, but rather a lack of understanding of this great love. I think that has been my struggle for a while. I have, as most people do, a very finite definition of the word and my definition is lost in the waves that are created by the very idea of a God who desires, loves and lavishes affection. I think that my heart is broken, and not in a way that denotes sadness or despair but in the fact that it simply does not work. It has forgotten how to respond to such a love and therefore misses out on the splendor of it. When I hear or read of God's love, there in my heart lies a chasm that needs to defied, a clinical view that needs to be taken in and made personal. And that is a greater tragedy than one I just watched. God's love is enormous. So big that there are no words that can express the wonder or majesty of it. It searches the depth and breadth and heights of the earth to find us, the sinners that we are and take us out of dark places and into the light. It is our hope when all else fails, our anchor when we find ourselves lost in the waves not able to tell up from down or left from right. It is bigger than anything that we could imagine and small enough to fit into a simple act of kindness. How could I have missed this for so long? The answer is that I have no clue! I wrestled with God last night and begged for understanding but it did not come, instead exhausted I climb into my Abba's lap and just let go and fell asleep. I hope that one day understanding will come, that I will learn what it is to have someone (yes, that someone is the Lord Almighty) fall in love with me. And that I would learn to accept this love just as I am and not bend my world around trying to change to earn that love. That is my prayer for the moment, that I would come to grips with the fact that God on High, the Creator, who sits above us in Glory is at the same time sitting with me know whispering in my ear and telling tales of how He has moved mountains just for me, so we could be together and so that He would not have to be separated from me any longer. May my heart one day understand this and be overcome by the fury and tempest of His love and swept up in delight and joy every time I think on it.

Rain in the City...

I recently re-read one of my friend’s books. Well, I call him my friend. But he doesn’t even know my name or where I live and I doubt that he ever will. Still, should he find me the offer for friendship remains. His book is about story and how God wants us to live a good story on this earth so that when we get to Heaven we can sit with our Maker and reminice and be reminded of all the times we forgot, all the times we enjoyed and all the times that brought us conflict. I like that image. Sitting with God and laughing, crying and sitting in shock over what this gift of life offered us. I think I like it more than I know.

There is a part in the book where he talks about meaningful scenes and how they may not move the story along at all but all good stories have them. And though they may not be a pivotal point in the story, they bring meaning just the same. There is a scene in Garden State where the characters are all dressed in garbage bags in the rain standing on the edge of a canyon by a boat that is a house. In Lars and the Real Girl, Lars is seen dancing with his “girlfriend” in the garage that is his home. In Forrest Gump, Forrest is the backwoods of Vietnam describing the rain when all of a sudden the clouds clear to reveal a starry sky more beautiful than he has ever seen. In the movie Once, after recording their album, they all pile into the record executive’s car and blast it through the speakers while they drive around Northern Ireland at top speeds. The point is that meaningful scenes are important. They beg us to live a better life. They are the punctuation to a sentence that we will never forget.

It rained today. Like, serious rain. And it came all of a sudden. I stood at my window eleven floors up and just enjoyed it. I enjoyed the wind as it caressed my face, I enjoyed the raindrops and they hit my chest, arms and hands, I enjoyed the sweet smell of the air and the crack of the clouds as they unleashed their fury on the ground below. In the midst of all this I began to think about what my friend said about meaningful scenes and I thought that this might qualify as one.

The truth is I have been worried lately, worried that maybe I haven’t been living a good story. That maybe I was a few chapters behind everyone else in writing a story worth living, but in that instant, memories came flooding back to me. Like my first day in Uganda when I was standing under a tent buying coat hangers and all of a sudden got caught in a rain storm, the rain seeped into the grass and flooded the little market, it ran up over the soles of my flip flops and soaked my feet. Or the time my new roommates and I, only knowing each other for a few hours, put in our grubby clothes and ran through the rain barefoot late one night. I was reminded of the time I was at someone’s house whom I did not know, with a friend and at the first sign of down pour we ran out onto his deck and stood there till we were soaked to the bone and my mascara ran down my cheeks.

As I stood there watching the rain pool in my hands and drip down to street level I was overwhelmed at what I found. Maybe my story wasn’t as boring at I thought it was. Maybe I was living a good story, not quite there, but one that maybe one day would be worth writing down on paper. Maybe I hadn’t squandered all that God had given me. And in that moment I was truly grateful. Grateful to a God who made things like story that teach us what it is to live and that encourage us to keep living, I was grateful to a God who made the rain and the heavens that it falls from and that someday I will sit with Him and talk about this day and why it was special, just like so many others that He spoke to me through.

Museums. I have always loved museums. Even as a little girl I have marvelled at their grandeur and stateliness. They loom into the sidewalk as if to say, “Here I am, full of treasures. I know all about the past and have seen so many wonders your eyes will not believe themselves.” Granted, I have not been to many and in no means do I pretend to be a coinosseur of museums, but ever since I was a girl I have dreamed of going to the Louvre. I think it all happened on a trip to New York City a few years back. When, walking through the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I over heard a conversation about how wonderful the Louvre was and how any self-respected art lover would be found there and not in this tiny little museum know as the Met. I couldn’t imagine a museum that was bigger and better and more stately than the one that I was currently standing in. I saw pictures of the Louvre once, on a friend’s digital camera and my heart fell in love. Some day, when I travel Europe, I will go to the Louvre and marvel at what it has to offer.

In the meantime, I will explore any museum I find and enjoy and appreciate art in all forms. This brings me to my newest favorite painting. I saw this at the Musée des Beaux-Arts. I turned a corner and there it was. On a plain wall in some part of the museum where I thought I had gotten lost. As soon as I saw it my heart broke and I stood in front of it for almost half an hour wiping tears from my face. (I’m sure that the security guard was wondering about the apparently emotionally unstable girl standing in front of the painting worried that I would try to tuck it under my arm and make a break for it!) But the thing is, I had just wandered through a section where the only images of Jesus were a young, poor, innocent boy or a defeated shell of a man being hung on a Cross. I think this painting made such an impact because it was clearly different than all the others. This one had life, color, hope. I love what the Savior did for me on that day at Calvary, but I have spent too much of life leaving Him defeated, laiden with pain and on that Cross. He rose again and I think that we never truly live until we understand that He lives too. He came down, off that Cross, in one piece. He conquered death so that we don’t have to live within its clutches.

This painting is a scene from when Jesus raises Jairus’ daughter. Jairus was a temple leader and went to seek the one called Messiah when his daughter fell ill. While he was explaining his case to Jesus a servant from his house came to tell him that unthinkable had happened. His daughter had died. She was no more and Jairus was urged not bother Jesus anymore. Can’t you just see that scene in your head? I can. A father, taking his last chance, fighting through the crowds trying to get to Jesus and earnestly pleading with Him to come and see his daughter. He eventually agrees and before you know it Jesus and entourage is headed to your house. Your heart lifts a little and you are trying not to get too excited until one of your house staff comes, with tear filled eyes, and probably whispers in your ear, “Master, I’m afraid that your daughter is dead. Let’s not bother the Rabbi any longer. Come on let’s go, come on. Stay strong. That’s right keep walking. Just breathe. I know that this is hard but we don’t need a crowd right now. Come on, let’s go.” What an awful, gut wrenching feeling. Here Jairus is, his daughter’s salvation is coming, he can see the roof of his house from here. Jesus is not three feet from him. He can see the dirt under Jesus’ finger nails and smell that He has been traveling. This just isn’t fair. It’s not fair. He is so close and yet so far away. Before Jairus’ thoughts can turn to all the things he could have done instead that would have saved his daughter, Jesus simply says, “Don’t be afraid, just believe.” What audacity, here is Jesus looking Jairus in the face, Jairus has just lost precious little girl, and all He can say, “Just believe”? I don’t know about you, but that is not how I cope with death. Not in the slightest.

When they get to Jairus’ house, Jesus clears the crowd and exclaims that she is simply sleeping and not dead as they all assumed. He enters her room and touches her hand and she opens her eyes, takes a look around and gets out of bed. I bet that there was not one jaw that didn’t hit the floor that night.

But I wonder about this girl. Did she know who Jesus was? Was she accustomed to the lines on this man’s face before he woke her? Was she immediately at peace when she saw him sitting on her bed? Did she grasp the severity of what he had done for her, for her father, for her family and for the neighbors listening at the door? With a simple “Little girl get up.” He had restored a life and a broken family. All because Jairus had faith enough to bother the Rabbi and wait for his miracle to come.

Which makes me think that perhaps Jesus is less occupied with His death on the Cross than you and I might think. It makes me wonder if His mission was not to die here on earth, but to impart life to all have the courage that it takes to “bother” Him. Jesus could have easily held Jairus and his wife while the mourned the loss of their daughter. He could have imparted some beautiful heavenly wisdom in a wonderful eulogy as they laid her low. He could have simply shrugged and apologized for the fact that He couldn’t get there fast enough and encouraged Jairus that they would soon be together at the Lord’s table when Jairus reached eternity. But the point is that He didn’t. He raised that little girl and brought her life out of the grave. That is the point. He restores life. That was His mission and we miss out on that when we leave Him to die in defeat on the Cross like so many of the paintings that I saw in the museum that day. When we forget that Christ has life giving power we leave Jairus’ daughter in her bed, tucked into an eternal slumber. We miss out on so much. Can you imagine the partying that happened in that house that day, and for the days to come? Can’t you just imagine the joy of Jairus and his wife as they tucked their little girl into bed that night thanking, with every fiber of their being, the Savior who had made that moment and so many more like it a possibility again?

I love this painting and this story because there is life in it. It is dripping with life, from the hand of Jesus to the eyes of the little girl to the fly on her arm. The whole thing just sings life. Which is what the Savior does to all of us. He offers us life. He has given me life, and I can taste it. I recently read a blog on not letting yourself have a “near-life experience” by simply succumbing to the slow bleed that can be our lives and not allowing life to imparted to you from a loving and caring Father. I think that those are words we need to hear, and we need to hear them often. There are so many ways in which we can die prematurely and be found not alive while life is happening right around us. I don’t want that to be me. And I don’t want that to be you either. I want life for you and for your little girl. It is too precious of a thing to leave on the bed of one that you love, or on the Cross of one who loved you. Choose life, at all costs, Jairus did and I know that He never regretted it.

And as much as I love museums, all that they can show us is how life was lived, or preserved or guessed at or interpreted. They can’t show us how to live now or what the next steps for us are. Only life and Creator of it can do that. So until I get to the Louvre, and wherever the path from there takes me, I will live my life as a celebration of the One who raised this little girl, both the one lying in the bed and the one being reflected by the computer screen as I write this, and enjoy this life with gusto and zeal because it is a gift. Given to me by a Messiah who enjoyed His and makes mine count.

The Sunrise and CS Lewis

I believe in God like I believe in the sunrise. Not because I can see it but because by it I can see everything else.

-CS Lewis.

Some of my favorite memories of my childhood are of when my father would read out loud to me. One summer he read me the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. A literary staple to every childhood. I enjoyed its whimsy and intrigue and all the delights and the perils of the Pevensie children. It was such fun. I would lie in my parents’ great big bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets and the voice of my father would carry off into the mystical land of Narnia and beyond to take part in adventure and uncertainty.

I have stood by the Chronicles of Narnia ever since. The memories still linger and though the series always remained a set of books that I would recommend to every child in town, my connection with the author was lost. But there is a moment in every dwindling friendship that has the power of re-awaking it and that moment was brought on by this quote. It sort of rocked my world, actually. And even though that was years ago I can feel the impact of this statement in my heart even now.

You see, for years I struggled with what to do with my belief in God. I couldn’t shake it; sure I tossed it around a lot and in sat in various places in the bedroom of my heart. Not much unlike that piece of paper with the phone number of an old friend that you are going call once you have the time. You don’t want to file it away in case you forget where you filed it and you don’t want to throw it away knowing that if you do you will forget for eternity and never call. And so my belief was something that I came across again and again. Sometimes I found it under my bed; sometimes it was on my chair. This awkward thing that just sort of stuck around. When it was useful it was very useful and when it wasn’t I would usually just end up tripping over it on my way to something else.

This quote began to put this whole “faith” thing into perspective for me. It challenged me to not just stare at it and occasionally try it on just for good measure, it challenged me to pick it up and look through it. It challenged me to put it to use. It is possible to believe in God like you believe in the sunrise, and that is a very romantic notion. One that I am rather inclined to like, but at the same time, sunrises can be fickle. On the northern pole of this planet the sun sometimes doesn’t rise, and depending on the season you are either woken up by its rays or left waiting staring out your window for a glimmer of hope that perhaps summer hasn’t left after all. But, if you count on its light and the direction that it gives then there is a constancy.

Regardless of whether you see the sunrise you can still make out objects by the light that it sheds. Some days are brilliant with the light of the sun; others tend to leave you squinting and estimating where things are and where you will end up. When we believe that through the eyes of faith we can see everything that is around us and actually put that faith to the test then we can understand what it is to believe in something more than just the fickleness of a sunrise.

The book of Job reminds of this more than anything. Job had it all, a wife, kids, and wealth and in one fell swoop Satan took it all away. But God, for some reason allowed him. Job was left with nothing more than the ruins of a life he once knew and some pretty attractive boils. But despite his wife’s pleas to curse God and despite his friends’ poor advice, he looked beyond the sunrise mentality and hung in there. He could see, at least for a while, what God was doing because he was looking at his life through the light cast by the sunrise. He wasn’t face first to the horizon waiting for that amber globe to rise and hover above it, he was probably standing with his back to the horizon waiting for the rays to continually light the tragedy of his life from an eternal perspective. When that failed God brought Him Elihu to remind him how to use the light and see properly.

When we are forced to look at things from the perspective of eternity the shapes shift. Job realized that in this heavenly hue the tragedies afforded to him could serve a bigger purpose than just himself. They could serve to glorify his God, the God that he had lost everything for in the first place. They could serve to teach him about the Almighty and His vastness and when you lose the eternal perspective on your life things get a little dim and all that begins to come into focus is what lies around you and how those objects make you feel. Without the light of the sunrise we forget that we are dearly loved servants of the Most High and that we have two purposes on this earth; to be loved by and to glorify God.

As I learned (and am still learning) to see the light of the sunrise and understand that it illuminates that which is important from an eternal perspective I noticed (and am noticing) how life slowly began (and begins) to come back together. It was no longer about that which caused me pain or discomfort but it became about that which brings glory to my Creator and how I can ease the pain and discomfort of others. When you go about your life not waiting on the sunrise, but knowing how to see from the light that it brings things get simpler. There is no longer this anxious worry about whether the sun will rise or not. There is no getting up early and impatiently waiting at the windowsill. There is simply this calm of knowing that when the sun does rise and the light fills the room, your life is embraced by eternity and all of the questions and doubts are either erased or satisfied. You can live life, not because the sun has risen, but because it has served its purpose and has lit your way.

Admittedly, I would rather some days worry about the sunrise than the life that it is about illuminate, but that is why we have Job 38. A series of beautiful yet terrifying questions about how the world works and how we control it. They are enough to remind me that when I begin to boss God around I better know what I am doing, because He has seen it all and has traced the universe with His own hand.

I used to wonder what to do with my belief in God, now I know that instead of just tripping over it it must be used and exercised or there really is no point in having it. Like Lucy’s elixir, there is no point in possessing something so valuable if it will simply go to waste.

La vie...

Life is a funny thing.

It never releases all its secrets at once. It kind of keeps you hanging on, always at its mercy, being tossed by every whim and fancy. Which I suppose has me sitting here today. I am on my own now, in a town not my own and surrounded by a language that seems just a distant memory.

I am in Montreal, far from where I thought I would ever be and yet so close I can almost taste it. Today it rained. I love the city in the rain and used most of my afternoon to watch the umbrellas bob up and down the main streets and in and out of metro stations in this french town as the drops fell from the heavens in varying shapes and sizes. It was a wonderful sight, each umbrella unique in form and color. Some had ears, others had tassels, some were garish hues of pink and green, others afforded no style at all. What a joy that I am afforded this luxury. I think that I am in love. In love with a life that could be mine and is mine. A life in the middle of rain and umbrellas and crowds and metro stations.