Category Archives: books

Yellow

29 Monday Apr 2013

Posted by in beauty, books, Communities, creation, scripture, Soul Care

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Look at the stars; look how they shine for you, and everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow. – Yellow, Coldplay

If there were such a thing as a soul-care toolkit, and I was to begin assembling one, one of the first items I would pack into mine would be the color yellow.

When I married the beloved Swede nearly thirty years ago, I asked my bridesmaids to wear yellow. His groomsmen all wore brown tuxes, but that’s a conversation for another day. In our defense, it was the early eighties when many of us made unfortunate fashion choices.

A year ago when I was discussing blog redesign ideas with a friend, I told him my site needed to have yellow in it, but I didn’t know why. Last week a friend invited me to meet her for lunch. Afterward she asked if I wanted to stop by her house to see her daffodils. There were nine hundred and fifty-two of them, she told me. She’d counted.

As we stood together, surrounded by a sea of spring flowers, I told her I remembered reading somewhere that, during seasons when he was experiencing relief from the mental illness which tormented him, Van Gogh tended to use more yellow in his paintings. When I got home, I did a little online sleuthing to see if I could find any confirmation for my story. I didn’t.

Some sources suggested certain Van Gogh’s vision was affected by certain medications he took to treat his physical and mental illness, and these caused him to see yellow or yellow spots. Some in the art world speculate that Van Gogh merely painted what he saw. I did find, however, this quote from a letter written to his brother in 1888:

Just now, we have a strong glorious heat, with no wind, just what I want. There is a sun, a light that for the want of a better world I can call only yellow, pale sulphur yellow, pale golden citron. How lovely yellow is!

The world outside my window is currently aflame with yellow. Forsythia is in full bloom, and even the pesky dandelion–cursed by homeowners who labor to eradicate it–turns it spiky yellow petals toward the sun. Perhaps even the miseries of this life are tinted yellow to bear witness to some hidden beauty.

While scripture reminds me the grass withers and flowers fade, and only the word of the Lord endures forever, it also points me toward the one who leads me beside still waters to restore my soul (Psalm 23:2). He visits the earth and waters it; he crowns the year with his goodness, and he causes little hills to rejoice on every side. (Psalm 65:9-11)

And he is the one who graces the world with the color yellow.

Another friend said to me recently that, as years go by, she finds herself increasingly surprised by the return of spring. And I knew just what she meant. Although God’s word tells me he has set the sun in its circuit (Psalm 19:4-6) and ordered the moon to mark out the seasons, (Psalm 104:19) my soul grows weary throughout the cold, dark days of winter.  Though spring has returned faithfully each year of my life thus far, sometimes I am tempted to wonder, “What if this year it doesn’t?”

When yellow returns it speaks to me of hope, it whispers to me of resurrection. It restores my soul.

I see yellow and I am reminded that out of darkness light will dawn once again; mourning will make way for joy. Out of death, life will rise. It has before, it will again.

And the one who rose from the dead is the very same one who wove this pattern into all of creation. He is the one who numbers the stars and calls each of them by name. (Psalm 147:4) He knows mine.

And he gives me the gift of yellow.

How about you? If you were packing a soul-care kit, what would yours contain? And what’s your favorite color? Why?

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Joining the writers at Living the Story @ BibleDude who, throughout the month of April, have been celebrating our ability to Rise and grasp the wonder of Christ as we walk out Eastertide. Today, Margaret Feinberg shares how we nurture awe and live wonderstruck in the every day.

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Fewer Words, More Prayer

17 Wednesday Apr 2013

Posted by in books, Communities

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The word forth is not one I use in everyday conversation.

I never say to my son, “Please bring forth your laundry from the dark recesses of your closet.”

I don’t call my husband at work and ask, “If it’s no trouble, would you sally forth to the local market and pick up a gallon of milk?

I don’t call my daughter and tell her, “I plan to venture forth to visit you over Memorial Day weekend.”

And yet when I talk to God, I use the word all the time.

“Send forth your Spirit,” I pray. “Let the gospel go forth. Show forth your power.”

Granted, there are certain words I use only when talking to God: Glory. Transcendence. Majesty.

But sometimes when I’m praying and I stop to listen to myself, I begin to wonder, “Why am I talking like this? This doesn’t sound like me at all.

I’m sure, in part; my word choices reflect the language of the King James, the gospel vocabulary on which I was raised. And, at times, I’m probably just mimicking speech patterns I’ve heard when listening to others pray.

More often than not, however, I’m probably just filling in dead air space. Like an awkward teen on a first date, I keep blathering on in God’s presence because the possibility of silence in the conversation seems far too uncomfortable for me.

This week, I am among several other friends who are discussing chapters .004 and .005 of Margaret Feinberg’s book, Wonderstruck. Feinberg describes, in chapter .004, the wonder of reclaiming God’s life-giving gift of Sabbath. She wrote of the ways in which adopting practices of ceasing and rest awakened her more to the reality of God’s presence and goodness in her life.

It seems fitting to me that, after describing how she made more time to be with God, Feinberg devoted a chapter to discussing how she spent time with him in prayer. She recalled a Lenten season during which she felt moved to give up lengthy prayers and replace them, instead, with carefully crafted ones of no more than three words. Feinberg wrote:

Most mornings I stumbled into lengthier prayers by mistake. I paused and rephrased. Then stumbled again. The painstaking process left me frustrated and edgy. Prayer times expanded, not because I felt close to God, but because crafting even a few comments took so much time.

I also recognized I’d slipped into something one of my favorite writers calls “magical religion”— those moments I convince myself I can control or conjure God through my words or actions. Though I never outwardly admitted to such practices, my new time with God exposed a deep-seated belief that if I just prayed long enough or was more articulate or heartfelt then God would answer.

Anyone who has visited here a time or two and read my words can attest that I can be a bit wordy. Verbose.  Garrulous even. Not to mention repetitive and redundant. It probably wouldn’t be difficult for any of my readers to imagine what my prayer life might be like.

I take out my prayer journal and anguish over the names written there. I ask God to act. I beg. I plead. Sometimes I offer suggestions:

“If you would just do A and cause B to happen, then change the course of the wind and weather and, finally, insert tab C into slot D, I’m sure everything would all come out right.”

As though the God of all heaven and earth needs me to coach him in doing anything.

Other times I ramble on, filling up space, perhaps saying things because I think I am supposed to say them. And I have to wonder if, at times, God might not just want to interrupt me and ask,

Are we talking about anything here, or are you just talking?

Feinberg offers no magic formula for prayer. She doesn’t reference a command from scripture restricting the entreaties of God’s people to three simple words. Yet this chapter challenges me to think about how I converse with God when I approach him in prayer.

Frankly I don’t always know how to pray on behalf of many of those I care about. Since I was a child, I have offered up the words which the Lord taught his disciples to pray:

Your kingdom come, your will be done; on earth as it is in heaven.

But I look around and see these things are not the case. Some days the words in my prayer journal sound more like those from the script from a Lifetime television movie than something one would find in the pages of a respectable middle-aged Presbyterian woman. Things here on earth aren’t being done as they are in heaven. Not yet anyway.

I’m learning I don’t have to offer God solutions. I don’t have to beg him to be present or ask him to act with compassion toward others. He has already promised to do these things. God’s willingness to bring about his purposes depends on his character and his promises, not on the words I use or the earnestness of my pleas.

Sometimes I ask for specific things on behalf of others: healing, wisdom, clarity, reconciliation, forgiveness, rest. Other times, I echo his words back to him,

Remember when you said you would be God, not only to me but also to my children and my children’s children? Remember?

I haven’t tried limiting myself to three-word prayers. I am learning, however, simply to sit before God, give voice to my concerns, and release them to him. In doing so, I am affirming I believe he is at work and is going to do everything he promised in order to make thing right.

Just how he brings that forth is, of course, entirely up to him.

Joining the book club discussion co-hosted by Shelly Miller @ Redemption’s Beauty and Duane Scott @ Scribing the Journey. And with emily wierenga’s community for imperfect prose:

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Source cited: Feinberg, Margaret (2012-12-25). Wonderstruck: Awaken to the Nearness of God (p. 78). Ingram Distribution. Kindle Edition.

Living Wonderstruck When Nature Isn’t Always Pretty

10 Wednesday Apr 2013

Posted by in books, community, creation, spiritual practice

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My brother has often told me that when he encounters difficult things in life, he maintains perspective by measuring them against a canoe trip he once took with my husband. As hard as his circumstances might be, he says nothing else comes close to the misery he experienced that day.

The day had dawned with brilliant spring sunshine, the kind that allows a person to believe winter might finally be over and done with for good. The sun’s warmth had begun to coax glimpses of green from the dead and gray of thawing ground. Birds seemed to have remembered their songs. As we drove toward church that Sunday morning we passed rushing and tumbling streams, filled to overflowing with runoff from melted snow.

“It would be a great day to canoe the Willi,” said my husband. I could see he was picturing the particular section of the Willimantic River he had in mind, beginning in the town of Willington, Connecticut, and flowing downstream through several other villages before reaching the Eagleville Dam.

While at church, he talked my brother into joining my daughter and him on his afternoon adventure. After returning home I helped him load the canoe onto his truck, together with paddles, life vests, and all the other equipment they would need. I followed my husband in my car to my brother’s house so I could leave a vehicle downstream where they would finish their paddle. My brother climbed into my husband’s truck clad in a t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops. He decided, at the last minute, to grab a hooded sweatshirt, just in case the temperature dropped.

Which it did.

As the afternoon progressed, the strong morning sun yielded to gray and cloudy skies which proceeded to unleash cold, drenching, bone-chilling rain. Although the precipitation never changed over to snow it gave a powerful impression that, at any moment, it just might. My brother yielded his hooded sweatshirt to my daughter who sat in the middle of the canoe as he and my husband paddled.

I believe the memory of the cold which settled deep into his bones continues to haunt my brother. That canoe trip with my husband set a benchmark for misery which, in his experience, has yet to be surpassed.

I’ve been thinking about something I wrote in last week’s post for the Wonderstruck book club discussion hosted by Shelly Miller and Duane Stuart, and I’m not sure I got it quite right. I said,

The works of God’s hands do not contradict his written word; they serve it by breathing color onto the black-and-white of the printed page.

I believe that is mostly true, albeit metaphorical. God’s Spirit breathes life into the words of scripture, opening our eyes to its truth. And creation doesn’t always bear faithful witness to its Creator. Although formed in perfection and declared by its Creator to be good, this world is corrupted by sin. Creation itself is in rebellion against the One who called it into being.

Yet God continues to point toward the works of his hands, even in its fallen condition, to illustrate the truth of his word. In chapter 003 of Wonderstruck, Margaret Feinberg wrote:

The psalmist reminds us God’s faithfulness is woven into the canopy of the heavens, his loving-kindness displays itself throughout the earth. The subterranean depths of the ocean speak of the wisdom of God’s judgments, and the horizons herald how far God removes our sins. God’s rule reveals itself in day, night, and seasons: his voice rumbles in the thunder.

On the days we begin to question God’s power or sovereignty, the psalmist points to the hail, fire, wind, and snow as elements that obey God’s command. In the moments we start to question God’s saving grace, the psalmist recalls the miracles of salvation in the sea and storm to remind us no one resides beyond God’s rescue.

Slide Peak, Photo Credit: Chaz Owens, elder of my two 2-headed brothers

Last summer my husband invited my brother on another outdoor adventure, this time for a hike in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. They summited four peaks and, near the top of one, encountered fifty mile-per-hour winds. My husband pursues these kinds of experiences and continues to invite others to join him because they drive home for him realities about God’s power and sovereignty. He says these wilderness adventures serve to remind him:

We’re not as big and important or as in control as we think we are. We tend to think of ourselves as something important but, when you’re standing out there in those conditions, you realize you’re just a speck.

Yet a speck deeply loved and cared for by One powerful enough to sustain all of his creation.

Although he describes it as one of the hardest things he’s ever done, my brother said he enjoyed last summer’s hiking trip with my husband. After completing some steep climbs and enduring some harsh weather, they were treated to some stunning views.

And, he is quick to add, it was by no means as miserable as that spring canoe trip.

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Joining Shelly Miller @ Redemption’s Beauty and Duane Scott @ Scribing the Journey in their book club discussion of Wonderstruck, by Margaret Feinberg. And with emily wierenga’s community for imperfect prose:

 

Source cited: Feinberg, Margaret (2012-12-25). Wonderstruck: Awaken to the Nearness of God (p. 53). Ingram Distribution. Kindle Edition.

Praying for Pixie Dust

03 Wednesday Apr 2013

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She had me at pixie dust.

All around the internet, I kept seeing references to Margaret Feinberg and her book, Wonderstruck. The book sounded like something I’d enjoy reading, but I also thought perhaps its themes were ones I’d already encountered: Open your eyes. Look around. Be attentive. Be wonderstruck by evidence of God’s presence all around you.

I had learned from Ann Voskamp of the beauty and benefit of practicing gratitude, so I wasn’t sure what else I might glean from Feinberg’s words. And I’m not even sure what motivated me finally to purchase Wonderstruck, but I am so glad I did. Reading these words nearly undid me:

Several years earlier I had been in a place in my spiritual journey where God seemed nonexistent. I was still carving out time to connect with God each day. Reading. Scripture. Praying. Solitude. Though I emptied my bag of spiritual discipline tricks, nothing seemed to change. I arrived at church empty and left unsatisfied. I read from Psalms. Proverbs. Obadiah. The Gospels. Even Leviticus. Nothing connected. Worship was meh. Conversations felt flat.

“Where do I go, God? What do I do?” All I heard was crushing silence, the kind that’s empty and full, quiet and deafening all at the same time.

And, oh, how familiar that place sounded.

Feinberg then went on to describe a spiritual pilgrimage she had led in the Scottish Highlands. After fellow participants had shared their hopes and prayers for the upcoming trip, Feinberg told the group she was praying for pixie dust.

And I was smitten. Because I knew exactly what she meant. Feinberg continued:

More than anything, what I long for is our God, the One who bedazzled the heavens and razzle-dazzled the earth, to meet us in such a way during our time in Scotland that we find ourselves awestruck by his goodness and generosity, his provision and presence. I’m praying for pixie dust. I want to leave here with a sense of wonderment as we encounter and experience things only God can do.

Now I am a writer, a word girl. And I adhere to the reformed tenet of sola scriptura—Scripture alone as the only authoritative rule for life and faith. And yet I understand this longing to be bedazzled by my heavenly Father, to be wonderstruck by the magnificence of his creation.

Because I believe God reveals himself both through his word and the heavens which declare his glory. It’s not either/or; it’s both/and. And before any of my good reformed friends start sounding alarm bells about me wandering too far off the doctrinal reservation and into some sort of pagan tree-hugging worship, let me toss in a few words from John Calvin’s commentary on the book of Genesis:

We see, indeed, the world with our eyes, we tread the earth with our feet, we touch innumerable kinds of God’s works with our hands, we inhale a sweet and pleasant fragrance from herbs and flowers, we enjoy boundless benefits; but in those very things of which we attain some knowledge, there dwells such an immensity of divine power, goodness, and wisdom, as absorbs all our senses. Therefore, let men be satisfied if they obtain only a moderate taste of them, suited to their capacity. And it becomes us so to press towards this mark during our whole life, that (even in extreme old age) we shall not repent of the progress we have made, if only we have advanced ever so little in our course.

In reading Feinberg’s account of her pilgrimage in the Scottish Highlands, I was reminded of so much that was life-giving and good about my experience in the Alps last summer. And I remembered a conversation I had there with one of my fellow pilgrims, an astronaut.

(Yes, I did hike in the Alps with an astronaut–which is a pretty cool sentence to be able to type)

I, of course, asked my fellow traveler about his experience in the space program, because I am nosy like that. Specifically, I was curious about the spiritual lives of those who had traveled with him to space. I wondered if they interpreted their view from the space shuttle window merely as scientists or as those who saw the manifestation of God’s handiwork.

He said he assumed the percentage of people of faith within the space community probably mirrored that within the general population.

“But,” I responded, “They’ve been to SPACE! How could they not see evidence of God all around them when they were in SPACE?”

“Everyone on earth has seen a newborn baby,” he replied.

And he is so right. Evidence of God’s handiwork, his power, his glory, his goodness is everywhere around me if only I have eyes to see. The works of God’s hands do not contradict his written word; they serve it by breathing color onto the black-and-white of the printed page. The wonders of God’s creation sparkle, bedazzle, snap, crackle, and pop in a riotous, ridiculously abundant array as to absorb all my senses.

Photo Credit: The beloved Swede, taken at Phipps Conservatory, Pittsburgh

I might even be tempted to ponder the possibility they are sprinkled with pixie dust.

Joining Shelly Miller @ Redemption’s Beauty and Duane Scott @ Scribing the Journey in their book club discussion of Wonderstruck, by Margaret Feinberg

If you would like to receive future posts via email, click here. And click here if you would consider “liking” my Facebook page. Thanks–I appreciate you!

Sources cited:

Feinberg, Margaret (2012-12-25). Wonderstruck: Awaken to the Nearness of God (pp. 13, 16). Ingram Distribution. Kindle Edition.

John Calvin’s Bible Commentary: http://www.ewordtoday.com/comments/genesis/calvin/genesisintro.htm

Living Within the Great Big Story

25 Monday Feb 2013

Posted by in books, work

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As a young girl I used to attend Sunday school and church every week, outfitted in a fancy dress and shiny shoes, with my hair combed and parted more-or-less straight down the middle. I watched and listened as godly gray-haired women shared, via flannel graph, stories about Old Testament patriarchs and of Jesus and his disciples. I snacked on animal crackers served on brown paper towels and Hawaiian Punch served in Dixie Cups. And I thought every other child spent Sunday in exactly the same way.

Imagine my surprise in learning some of my friends didn’t even go to church. Ever.

When I was a college student, I thought it important to connect with fellow believers on campus in order to continue to learn and grow in my faith.  I wandered from one campus fellowship group to another, usually motivated by which one had the coolest music or the best-looking guys. I blame my lack of maturity and discernment in these matters on being young, immature, and lacking in discernment.

Despite my motivations as a young, self-absorbed college student, I was fortunate to have wandered into the midst of rich teaching about the idea of connecting faith, work, and every area of my life. I found myself among a group of college students taught by a young campus minister who wove all my familiar Sunday school stories into a single narrative of creation, fall, redemption, and restoration. He introduced me to ideas about calling and vocation and the ways Christians can, in any field of work, participate in this grand story. When I graduated from college, I assumed all mature Christians instinctively understood and believed these things.

Imagine my surprise when I learned otherwise.

For the past few weeks, I have been participating in a conversation at The High Calling about these same ideas as articulated by Tim Keller in his book Every Good Endeavor: Connecting Your Work to God’s Work. Byron Borger, owner and bookseller at Hearts and Minds Books today concludes the discussion about Keller’s book, and I find myself wanting the conversation to continue. There is so much packed into these last four chapters, and I’ve been reminded of how novel these ideas sound for many within the church.

After having considered God’s good plan for work which was woven into creation, and the problems introduced by the presence of sin in the world, the final section of Keller’s book turns to the good news of the gospel which is able to transform our work into participation in God’s work of restoration. The gospel, says Keller, provides a new story for understanding one’s work. Viewing all of life from within the story of God’s work of redeeming and restoring all things allows one to look squarely into the reality of the way things are, and then imagine what can and will be. However, says Keller, “If you get the story wrong, your response will be wrong.”

During the recent Jubilee Conference, I listened as Nicole Baker Fulghum, founder and president of The Expectations Project, described how the gospel story shapes her work within the field of public education. Fulghum rattled off a disturbing, but not surprising, list of statistics regarding inequities which persist among low income and minority students. “Schools,” Fulghum said, “are full of kids with thwarted purposes.”

Rooted in the story of creation, fall, redemption, and restoration, Fulghum believes hope exists for a different possibility, a different outcome for these children. Through her work with Teach for America, Fulghum witnessed the difference a teacher can make by believing in the potential of each child created in the image of God. She invites followers of Christ to participate in God’s work of casting a better vision for public education, laboring among these young image bearers, and advocating for the good of all students.

I am grateful for the opportunity I was given to be introduced to these ideas during my college years, and to have attended the Jubilee Conference to hear stories of those who put these concepts into practice. I wish this conversation about Keller’s book wasn’t coming to an end. I need to revisit this conversation often because I continue to struggle with putting these ideas about faith and work into practice. Even as I type this post I find myself battling my own idols, wondering about the value of my efforts and how they might connect to God’s work of advancing his kingdom.

Fortunately Keller concludes his book with a description of practical steps his church has taken to lead its members toward integrating their faith and work. Perhaps others will read his words and be moved to continue the conversation.

If you would like to receive future posts via email, click here. And would you consider “liking” my Facebook writer page? If so, click here. Thanks–I appreciate you!

Click here for more reflections on Tim Keller’s book over at The High Calling.

Related: Be sure to check out this post by my friend (and Jubilee roommate!) Laura Boggess–about meeting Byron Borger. And although the above link leads to Keller’s book listing on Amazon, might I encourage you, if interested, to purchase a copy from Byron at Hearts and Minds?

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