At Last, He has Come

I read it every year. It’s my prelude to Easter. It gets me every single time. Tears well up when I read the story of the Troubadour who sings his Star-Song to the world. Every year when I take the book, The Singer, off my shelf, I wonder if it will have the same effect on me as years past.

Today was no different. Chapter IX got to me again. It’s the story of the little girl lying along the roadside with twisted limbs, her only mode of mobility, a single wooden crutch. And, my heart swells up for those who are crippled in mind, body, and spirit.

But, the Singer stops, bends down to be close to the little girl. Touching her limp hand, he then draws the coarse fabric of her tunic back to reveal her legs. He reaches out to touch her small, disfigured foot.

I’m reminded of he who is my Troubadour, too.  The one who knows the suffering of this little one. He, too, has scarred hands and feet. He knows what it is to be a part of the fellowship of the suffering.

And, my heart wells up with gratitude to the Singer who sang me his Star-Song many years ago. When I, too, was but a girl.

Though I didn’t have a mangled body, I was lying by the roadside crippled by a low sense of self-worth, wondering what life had in store for me. 

Then the Singer came. He too had been mocked and made to believe he was unworthy. World Hater had done his part to convince him so, though the Singer knew it wasn’t true. His Father-Spirit had told him so.

I heard his Star-Song, the hope of redemption from World Hater’s merciless destruction. The melody rang true of all things new. A bit hesitant, the Star-Song drew me in. I, like the little girl lying by the roadside in despair, felt him scooping me up in his arms. He looked into my eyes. His smile gave me hope of a special future. While the Star-Song filled the air, my spirit could feel the sun penetrate through the darkness and I was able to freely run, taking in my surroundings with a joy I had never known. His Song filled every part of my being, and I danced, fully alive because of the Singer.

Every year it’s the same. My heart wells up in gratitude. The Troubadour came to me and set me free.

Untouchables with bandages

heard the healing song and came to health:

The crippled and the blind.

Sick of soul

Sick of heart

 Sick of hate

Sick of mind.

Everywhere the music went, full health came.

And all the way, men everywhere

were whispering that the long-awaited

Troubadour had come.

“It is he,” they said, "at last 
he’s come. Praise the Father-Spirit, he has come.”

*The Singer is a book that I received in my late teens. Author, Calvin Miller, retells the story of Jesus in a beautiful poetic narrative that gets me every time. (InterVarsity Press, 1975, pg. 51-51)

Two Final Thoughts on Turning Sixty

Yesterday I was searching through the back pages of my journal where I keep notes, random thoughts, scribbles, stuff that I want to remember, etc. Each journal is truly an account of what happens in my life for however long the journal pages last. The inside back cover records the books I've read during that time frame. Seven in the past eight months, two of which I'm still in the middle of reading, but decided to record them anyway (since I hope to finish them before I place this journal on the book shelf). Though, I only have 11 pages left, and I'm known to journal up to 6 pages in one setting. But, not every day!

So, yesterday, I came across a page where I had written two final thoughts on "turning 60" on the back pages of my journal. I realized they never made it into my previous blog post. At the time, I ran out of writing space and flipped to another random blank page.

When I was creating the blog post, I thought it ended a bit abruptly, failing to remember that there was actually more. I had expressed in my reflections that God doesn't change, but my image of him does as I experience life and continue to grow in my understanding of him. Besides, my image of him is influenced by my world, culture, and life. . . until that day when I will see him face to face in all of his glory.

So, for the record, here are the two final thoughts.

• And yet, I hope (and like to believe) that even in all of his glory, he will take me in his arms, hold me like no other, his love penetrating through me–a new body, a new heart, mind, and soul. 

• Besides the fact that I am daughter, sister, wife, mother, grandma, friend, mentor, counselor, writer, pastor, what really matters is that I am his and he is mine. I am his beloved and that is the reason, my friends, that I live.

It is in him that I live and move and am! Here's to a new decade! 

Turning 60

Rather than bemoan the fact that I only posted five times last year, I'll just start writing and posting. Besides, my son, Josh, has inspired me with two posts already this year. 

So, back to the blogosphere. 

The day after my birthday I sat on a high-top stool with my journal open to a blank page on the long counter in front of me. I like this window spot at the Starbucks on Mass Ave. I love my local Calvin Fletcher Coffee shop, but when I'm in the mood to be alone–not run into people I know–I'll drive the short distance of just over a mile to Mass Ave. At my window seat I can daydream, people watch, and reflect on life all at the same time. 

So this day I wrote "Turning 60" at the top of the page. Now that I'm reading back over it, my journal entry sounds a bit like Solomon when he wrote Ecclesiastes. 

My entry went like this: 

The Psalmist is right. The years are fleeting. Life is fleeting. The years come and go so quickly. The generations march on and on. The only lasting thing is God. He is from the beginning. He is the beginning. The Alpha and Omega. The beginning and the end. He is my only certainty. 

Through my 60 years this is what I have learned:

• Believing in God matters - He is Creator, Sustainer of life itself.

• Choosing to follow Jesus makes sense–He is my salvation–past, present, and future.

• The counsel of His Spirit has led me step by step. He is my sanctification and transformer.

• Even though God is with me, there are no guarantees in life. 

• Because we live in a world that is glorious and broken all at the same time.

• For the most part, in spite of our original sin, people are good and loving. We are all made in God's image. Some of us are more broken than others. Some have taken God's good gifts, distorted and perverted them into a destructive force . . . 

• Because there is evil in the world, not created by God, but allowed by God, because he refused to make us robotic. Lovingly, he gave us bodies with a heart, mind, and soul. 

• I've learned that the heart, mind and soul of a person is what matters. What lives within our being is who we are.

• It is the heart, mind, and soul that dictates our will and behavior. Our desires and longings. Our ability to extend forgiveness. To bear with each other and our differences. 

• No wonder it is written, "In him we live and move and have our being."

• No wonder God encouraged the Israelites to "love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind." 

• For that is where He dwells if we let him–heart, soul, and mind. 

• If I've learned anything in 60 years . . . God loves me. He loves me. No matter what.

• He's not the same God I learned about as a young girl, nor the same God I chose to follow at the age of ten.

• But, I'm not the same girl who gave her heart to Jesus at ten. I've changed. 

• Not that God has changed because he's always the same "yesterday, today, and forever," but my image of him has changed as I've matured, experienced life, and grown in my understanding of the God that he is. 

• Yet, I still see him through the lens of my world, culture, and life.

• But, one day I shall see him. Face to face. Then I will truly and fully see him in all of his glory.

That's what I wrote in my journal that day. Just some big overall thoughts on my faith–solid, yet changing. 

Of course, there are other things I've learned. Perhaps this year I'll post reflections on people and events and moments that have made a difference in my life. Perhaps.