Intimacy with Jesus

I met her at a conference a few years ago.

She was a tiny powerhouse of a woman, bubbling over with joy and the love of Christ. Just being in the same room with her made me feel more calm and made me wish I had what she had.
Intimacy.
The atmosphere of the room changed whenever she entered. She greeted you with a hug and a reminder that you are beloved, a treasure. She was Jesus with skin on and not because her life had been easy. No, in fact she had walked through storm after unimaginable storm.
Yet she smiled.
She taught about love. About unconditional, forgiving, Christ-like love. About seeing life through the lens of the Gospel and remembering that God is good no matter our circumstances.
She taught about joy. That it is a fruit of the Holy Spirit, not of my own willpower. That pressing in close to the Father, seeking His heart and His life are the keys to joy and not the resolution of the present conflicts I may be facing.
Oh, I wanted what she had. Any time I have been in the presence of a uniquely Spirit-filled person I just want to get close to them, brush against them and hope that the relationship with Jesus I see in them might just rub off on me. I want what they have…or do I?
You see, she has earned her stripes, as have all who walk closely with the Lord. She has spent countless hours on her knees before the Father and read the Bible cover to cover, over and over and over again. She realized a long time ago that intimacy with Christ was her only hope. That Jesus alone can shine light into the dark places and bring healing to her heart.
I want intimacy, but it will come at a cost.
And it is a cost I must be willing to pay in order to walk closely with Jesus and experience true healing and joy. We will never stumble into maturity. It is a result of training and training is never easy. It is painful, grueling work but it is necessary.
If I want what she has, I must do what she does.
I will only have as much of Jesus as I actually want. It doesn’t come by osmosis, but by intentional pursuit of Him.
It won’t come by binge-watching Netflix or scrolling Facebook, but by opening my Bible and reading it. All of it. Over and over and over. It will come by laboring in prayer, not just a quick “Thanks for everything” before I go to sleep at night. If I want to be filled to overflowing with the Spirit, affecting those around me and making them want what I have, then I must make a thousand tiny decisions each day as to what I am going to put at the forefront of my mind and heart. It is a path that is narrow, yet well-trodden by many who have gone before us. It is also a path worth taking, because the end result is intimacy with the Lover of my soul.
If I want all of Jesus, I must give him all of me.

Of Autumn and Rest

I took a short drive this morning.  The speed limit is 23 here in our neighborhood.  Not one mile higher.  The teenagers find it binding, I find it delightful.

I love being forced to slow.

Rounding the wide curve, with the pasture to my right, I spotted a neighbor.  Woolen hat pulled low to his eyebrows and two dogs fighting for position as he walked, a bounce in his step on this blustery Autumn day.  He waved and smiled, his cheeks revealing lines created by years of practice.  Such a genuine joy in his face that I couldn’t help but return it.

I was on my way to the gym where I would push and pull and sweat and, strangely, love every minute of it.  But the drive leading up to my session was devoid of stress, beautifully lined with orange-bedecked trees showing off just a little longer.  The horses huddled, two-by-two as the wild wind blew their manes and tails, creating dramatic poses from what would have been simple still-lifes.  The tan one lifted his handsome head and watched me pass by.  I wished I had a few carrots with which to treat him.

I prayed this year for Autumn, that it would be long and not too hot, not too cold.  I selfishly believe God made it perfect just for me.  It is, truly, the most beautiful and bright Autumn I have seen since moving to Tennessee and that is saying a lot.  Tennessee Autumns are generally lovely, but often too short.  Not this year, though.  Autumn came gently and has stayed a nice, long while.  She doesn’t need to hurry on my account, I assure you.

The cooler temperatures energize me.  Daylight savings has come and gone and now the sun sets early, just after 4:30 in the afternoon.  It makes the evenings feel  long and lures me here or to my notebook to write.  I start putting words to page and find myself editing, reshaping the stories and searching for just the right words, knowing they are out there somewhere.

The wind is howling and rain beats against the windows and I give thanks that, despite the stresses and strains of my day, a storm is blowing in and washing everything clean.  Both outside and within me.

And that is a much-needed gift.

Why am I rambling like this?  Well, I have some advice…I hope you will take it:

Step outside today.  Look up, letting your eyes focus as far away as possible.  Notice the clouds, the stars, the way the birds dance before they settle on the highest limb.  Listen to the wind, the train in the distance and the leaves bouncing along the sidewalk.  Let your senses rest and be still.  Wave and smile at your neighbor, then call your friend just to see what she is doing.  No agenda, just easy conversation.  Spend time counting blessings and maybe even write them down.  You’ll need them later, when the blessings are harder to list.  Talk to God about silly things, small things, because He cares about even those things.  Isn’t that incredible?  Breathe and sip tea while unsorted socks wait patiently in the laundry basket.  They aren’t going any where, I promise.  Then walk into the next thing, the awaiting tasks, refreshed and more able to focus because you took that Sabbath moment and gave your Creator a chance to do what He does best…Make all things new.

Hearthfire and Frost: Finding Joy in the Gifts of Autumn

It did this mama’s heart so good. All seven of us, together in the same room as Daddy lit the first hearthfire of the season and we marked it with a feast, a liturgy and laughter.

Chicken pot pie was the main dish, an easy dinner that brought everyone to the kitchen. Green beans were served alongside chopped salad with hot bacon and the grease drizzled all over the lettuce before the ranch dressing even had a chance. Crusty bread cleaned our plates and then, with mugs of hot chocolate and marshmallows, we gathered. Us, who have been too often fragmented. Seven people leading seven busy lives, four of whom are often in different counties during the day or any given evening.  But this night, we were all seven piled into our living room with only five seats and that made it cozy. And sweet. One squeezed in close beside her sister in the rocking armchair that squeaks. Another stretched out on the rug, warmed by the first Autumn fire.

Together, we read the prayer. Eyerolls were, miraculously, few and far between. The leather-bound book of liturgies, a new-ish family treasure, was passed hand-to-hand as each person read a paragraph then placed a log on the fire. After more than a few giggles and a couple of quickly-dampened arguments, not to mention younger ones fearing the hot ash that leapt from beneath the flaming logs as the new ones fell into place, the first hearthfire of the season was beautifully ablaze and no one was in a hurry to leave.

We sat, talking and gesturing, then belly-laughing as our oldest told a wild story and it hit me hard that this is likely his last Autumn at home. Next year he will be in college. Come next Fall, he may just be visiting and everything will be different. He will be different. We will all be different.

I willed myself not to allow tears to form and almost succeeded. I looked upon my family, my whole family, with deep joy and gave thanks to Jesus who makes all things new.

We went to bed at peace with the day, the smell of smoldering coals filling the house for the first time this season and anticipating the first frost in the morning.

Sure enough, I was awakened by a blaze of pink illuminating my bed. I parted the sheer curtains and gasped as the sky exploded in beauty, mist rising from the still-warm pond and dancing in the barely frozen air. The grass was gray with frost and sparkled in the first light of dawn.

My soul delighted in this gift and, again, I whispered a prayer of thanks to my God who knows how much I love a golden sunrise. In moments like this, I’m sure I’m his favorite.