Category: writing and poetry

Occupy Life: Stones

The eyes peeped out from under raised eyebrows with extra height from tippy toes. I was sitting square at my desk, imploring my computer screen to talk back when I asked it questions about facts and figures. Maybe it was because of my secretarial intensity that I didn’t notice the peeping eyes right away. But when I did, I willingly jumped into a game of hide-and-seek with the boy standing on the other side of my office window.

I spotted his Dad a few feet away, making sure the landscaping in front of the building reflected the glory of the Spring season. And down he disappeared and wide went my gestures as I “searched” for him. Then, he slowly rose with two rocks and a broad smile, as if to say, “Can you believe I found two rocks? And aren’t these wonderful?”

He placed them triumphantly on my ledge and I gave my most excited “Ah!” face in appreciation for his find. Then some more peek-a-boos and then up came those little hands with two more rocks. The same wonder filled his face, as if to say, “Can you believe I found two rocks? And aren’t they wonderful?” He set them on display just outside the first two.

It didn’t matter that he’d already given the first two rocks or that the parking lot had many rocks. His wonder at the rocks never waned because of quantity or accessibility – His wonder simply was because the rock was.

Two more rocks found their way to my ledge before he got distracted and traipsed off, but I left them there.

I want to remember that there is wonder in today, but not because of rarity or some arbitrary value. There is wonder in today because God is breathing it into existence. There are clouds and sunshine and meetings and people and rocks because God is willing them into being in this very moment.

And I want to hold each thing up in my hands triumphantly and see the wonder.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy

This is another in a series of posts called Occupy Life. Each day you and I occupy physical time and space, making bold statements about what is most important in this life (whether we’re holding picket signs or not). Other entries: Spanish at an Irish Pub, pancake batter, tying ribbons, Alejandra,  Lunch Hour, Delaney and Roland or the original post Occupy Life: Things One Might Do While Unemployed.

Posted on by Caroline 2

couches and cardigans

I stood there staring at the beaded bristles for probably five minutes.
I don’t think I’ve ever purchased a brush in my life and I hope I don’t have to return to the hairbrush aisle for a long time. But, as I was standing there, in the middle of my rare grocery run, I realized the weight of receiving.

Since returning from Honduras in June, I’ve tried to stay out of the giant aisles of excess in supermarkets. It was a mixture of solidarity with a country I loved and a complete necessity to spend nothing (unemployed for 6 months) that kept me a safe distance from materialism… or so I thought.

The real reason I rarely ventured inside Walmart or Target (or stores in general) might explain why I got a bit emotional when I shrugged into my sister’s rust colored cardigan today after work.

I’ve done a lot of receiving since June.

I’ve crashed on couches and crawled under comforters and cozied up in cardigans that are not mine. I’ve talked a lot about the a la orden philosophy – how God asks us to make every bit of our gifts, talents, and treasures available to Him in our service to others. What I haven’t really talked about is how many times I’ve been the recipient. For six months, I lived under my parents’ roof once again, but this time as an adult. I ate their food, used their washer/dryer, drove their cars, and kept on receiving. Never did I see a tally or hear what I owed, but I kept on receiving. I made almost every Christmas gift with my grandparents, using wood and tools and raiding the refrigerator. The conversations were even more delicious than the meals; and I kept on receiving.

Every day I look down at my outfits and realize how much I’ve received. Boots from my mom, sweater from my sister, coat and jeans from my dad… every day I wear blessings. Every day I receive.

Last week, right when I realized scruffy skater shoes from high school may not be “work appropriate,” my co-worker plopped a paper bag at my feet.
“See if you can find anything in there you like,” she said.
(wide eyes)
I couldn’t have picked a more work-appropriate pair of clogs if I tried. That afternoon, I wore a new striped sweater home from work and ran in a fancy Nike running shirt before going to my second job.

And I keep on receiving.

Generosity has a fine aroma in the house where I now live. From dinner conversations to the open cupboard, it’s hard to spit out thanks as fast as the gifts pile up. So many times, I don’t know how to say it – don’t know how to speak my thanksgiving for all the blessings I wear around. From the bed to the thick comforters, the sack lunches to the family meals, the seat in a familiar row at church to the books on loan…

and I keep on receiving

Truly, too much.

Last night, I got back from work and my brother had pizza ready to go into the oven. Later, my sister walked in the door with several things on hangers.
“I brought these for you. I thought you might need something new in the rotation.”

and I keep on receiving

Truly, too much.

I put on the beautiful, rust-colored cardigan today and almost wept. God is so good to care for us so completely… even down to couches and cardigans.

oh that I would
let LOVE fly like cRaZy

my Saturday sountrack: Josh Garrels, Love & War & the Sea In Between (download for free)

Posted on by Caroline 1

human eyes; heaven sight

This morning the ice clung to brown, lifeless branches.
And we are all dying.

This past weekend my mom sent an email my aunt wrote about my grandpa’s graceful, shuffling steps into this strange season of life. I’ve re-read these words so many times – grateful for the way they hug my soul. I know my dad and his seven siblings feel the weight of love and the weight of age in this man in a way I cannot, but as I read my aunt’s words my eyes were wet with something new.

She wrote,

Dad’s prayers were so personal and full of thanksgiving to His Savior, especially mentioned was the gift of Eternity and his family.  He didn’t want to walk this road, but it’s here, and he is going to walk it with grace and dignity to the best of his ability, and with his Savior’s and his family’s help.

Our bodies fail. They fall apart.
And we shuffle where we once skipped.
We shake where we once snapped with the energy of youth. We age.
Our eyes grow dim and our ears faint. Mortals.

But the stiffness of his joints has not crept to his heart.

Eternity looks just as glorious on the horizon with shuffled steps as it does with skips.
The promise of salvation is as bright with eyes of age as it is with the eyes of youth.

And with every sunset, one can turn to face the rest of the sky and see a glorious reflection. All the mysterious hues that explode before night falls, chasing after the golden orb, light up the rest of the blue expanse and color the clouds.

I’m witnessing this reflection as I watch my grandpa – human eyes with heaven sight.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.                                                    2 Corinthians 4:18

There is no way around it – we have human eyes confined to human bodies and human limits. But our sight – oh, our sight – is able to see clear through to heaven.

As Grandpa fixes his eyes on the unseen, we are blessed to watch the sky light up with the glory of his heavenly pursuit.

The ice will melt and the trees will bloom.
Let the winter come, for it is the only path to Spring.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy
with human eyes and heaven sight 

Posted on by Caroline 4

a letter to fathers

I remembered this post recently and thought now is a good time to revisit these thoughts. I wrote this post almost exactly a year ago, while working in Honduras. Maybe it’s Valentine’s Day that has me thinking about it again.

daughter & dad

___________________________________________________________________

John Mayer’s song, “Daughters,” scratches the surface of the longing a daughter feels to be loved by her dad, but (not surprisingly) it isn’t strong enough.

Fathers, be good to your daughters
daughters will love like you do

It was simple enough to capture the attention of a whole crowd of daughters who wished for what this nebulously suggests, but I wish this song spelled out specifics.

Fathers:

  1. Be transparent about your first and greatest Love.
    For many daughters, your faith is a secret. You might go to church or you might have a Bible, but your ideas and convictions are as hidden and elusive as treasure on a child’s crayon-scribbled treasure map. It’s okay to be somewhere in the growing stages of your faith – in fact, it’s refreshing for us daughters to know you haven’t “arrived” yet. When your daughter can see you admit you need God, her heart and tenderness toward you will grow, but more importantly you will have pointed her gaze to the Father who never fails.
  2. Love your wife.
    One of the greatest ways you can love your daughter is to love and serve your wife. When your daughter sees you honoring, protecting, partnering, laughing, enjoying, and living in a way that reflects God’s design for marriage, she will respect your role and have an excellent example of a husband (especially important in those years when you cannot relate to your daughter. When nothing makes sense, love your wife well and I promise your daughter will see it!).
  3. Choose to be around.
    Your daughter will feel special when you decide the best place for you is next to her.
  4. Get personal.
    Some of my favorite memories with my dad are simple ones that we shared while we did chores together on the farm or as we drove out to a football game or prepared our animals for county fair. Every discussion doesn’t have to be deep, but if you open up first then you’ll gain your daughter’s trust and she’ll likely reciprocate (even if it’s not right away).
  5. Encourage, praise, love the God-honoring things your daughter does and push her in those things to be excellent.
    I’ll never forget my dad’s insistence that I study that little spelling book in preparation for the elementary spelling bees. My dad still types on the computer with his pointer fingers and English wasn’t his strongest high school subject, but when he found out I could put letters together in the right order, he was going to make sure I did it excellently. Those little things (though I assure you I didn’t love them at the time) made his love for me so obvious.
  6. Be gentle.
    Your daughter will appreciate well-placed words and respected silences.
  7. Be good to your sons, too.
    Your daughters are smart. They will see the way you are leading and guiding your sons. Right now they are making mental notes in their heart about whether their dream man will act like the father and brothers in their lives. Many daughters hold on desperately to the hope that it can be different. If they have to rely on Hollywood, they will be hoping for something unhealthy and unrealistic. Your daughter has a front row seat for what a man should look like – so show her!

 

let LOVE fly like crazy
and let those people closest to you benefit

Posted on by Caroline 0

blessings are sojourners

It took awhile, but Vince is finally on board with this idea (although he’s still skeptical) of blessings as sojourners. In church this morning, I was scribbling and doodling and arrowing and marking on my journal pages (taking bullet notes is so overrated). Right when the service ended, I leaned over and said, “I figured it out!” pause, “Hoarders!” Vince, not surprised in the slightest, just waited for me to flesh it out. “Quarters?”

“No… You know, blessings are meant to be always transferred, always moving, always given… but we love the blessing so much we keep it. We hoard it!”

He chuckled a little bit, “Oh… hoarders! Alright… I can see that.”

I’m so thankful to have a cousin/friend who equally loves processing through ideas, asking questions, and challenging assumptions. This afternoon, I had to stop myself in other company and ask, “Is this too much?” Because sometimes I forget how spoiled I am to have such a friend around.

So, this idea that blessings are sojourners and we are hoarders has been rolling like a snowball and gaining serious speed and mass in my mind. This is week two of Perspectives class and the first several lessons focus almost exclusively on God’s blessing – what it means for Christians and for the world. Pair that with a series in Ephesians at church and my personal obsession with the a la orden philosophy and I’ve got a dump truck of blessing on my hands. I’ll let you in on the processing side of things, if you promise you won’t reject it right away or laugh. Sometimes it’s fun to throw something up on here that I don’t think is finished quite yet. The thoughts still need punctuation and perhaps a more obvious thesis, but so do most of my posts I suppose.

_______________________

Blessings are sojourners.

They tread crowded roads and lonely trails to visit million dollar homes and corrugated metal shacks. They knock on expectant doors and ring doorbells of disinterested tenants. They dance with the leopards and race the rivers to the sea.

Blessings are sojourners.

They pack light. They carry purpose and reflect sunshine, but they are not weighed down. Their shoulders bear the weight of inheritance, but never long enough to slow their pace. They have no suitcase, no cargo pocket, no oversized handbag.

They are at home in motion.

Blessings are sojourners.

__________________________

let LOVE fly like cRaZy

Posted on by Caroline 3

postcards

I wrote this post after a couple hard days during my time in Honduras, talking with girl after girl after girl who has been battered and bruised by an unforgiving world. Today I am realizing that I will always collect these “postcards.”

… the stories are piling up like postcards from similar destinations: despair, loneliness, anger, betrayal, pain, and sometimes hope. Those are the ones I like best – the hope ones. The others are ones that make my heart hurt. Those destinations are hard to explain, but they seem to keep arriving at my doorstep.

Last night a few more postcards arrived at my doorstep, all busted up and barely legible from the journey. The stories seemed tucked under the furrow of the girls’ brow or their dimpled giggles, but soon it all came out. These girls, too young to experience what their stories exposed, too beautiful to be found in such a mess.

We talked and questioned and fumed a bit. I strained to make my face say what my heart felt – pain. I didn’t want to say, “It’s okay,” because too many people say that.

What I did say, at the end of both conversations was this, “I don’t know what kind of messes you’ve got… I don’t want to pretend I know you at all. What I do know is that there is abundance that can overwhelm the pain. There is a way to make sad eyes smile.”

It was probably too much, but I said it anyway. I can only keep receiving these postcards if  I drop off mail of much lighter weight. I wanted what they received from me to be Christ – a FULL, abundant, joyful image of freedom and grace.

This song by Zerbin is the motion of this desire. We are not stuck in this ground, this skin. We are bound for a land free from messes and weights and sin. The headlights of this glory-bound train will one day meet a sunrise that will make earth mornings seem quaint.

This is the message I want to leave when I gather the stories from all these girls. This is the only JOY that can walk through pain and survive.

 

Posted on by Caroline 3

Occupy Life: Ale

I’m doing this series called Occupy Life where I focus on sometimes small and sometimes giant moments that make up the days of our lives. We are all occupying physical time and space (whether you are passionate about it or not) every single day the sun rises and every night when it sets. So, what if we started thinking about our every moment as a statement – as our purpose with a proverbial picket line? Here’s number three.

I’m not sleeping.

No, really. I woke up this morning and I said, “I think little animals could hide in the bags under my eyes.”

Ale (pronounced AH-LEH, by the way) told me on our way out the door today, “I do think the no sleep is catching up with me… but I don’t care – we just have too much to talk about is the problem!”

I agree. Not a moment wasted.

Yesterday (and early into the morning), Alejandra and I occupied life with questions like, “What drives you?” and “Is it possible to love Chemistry and ministry at the same time?” and then processing conversations about the ways Christians can close doors in conversations instead of open them. We occupied life like a waterfall occupies a cliff – with words tripping over words and questions following answers.

Even with ten days full of almost non-stop, catching up conversation, we both talk like this minute is the last one we could analyze things together. When a good idea or a solution to a question or a realization or a dream happens, our eyes get real big and we purse our lips like what we just said is almost too good to bring down to the level of words. It’s like finding a treasure and then being physically unable to do anything but gesture wildly and squeal silently in excitement.

This morning, as we were getting ready, she said, “I have an idea – we can do a devotion after my class,” because on the first night (as we talked nearly in to our sleep), she told me, “This is very weird… usually I do two devotions every night – I promise! It’s just that I don’t know where to find the time because of our talks!”

The problem is legitimate, but as she said it this morning, I started to form a philosophy about how our time is woven together with the Lord. Yesterday, we hit up the life of Job, Paul’s letter to the church at Thessalonica, and our calling as children of God – all in between and around our adventures and mixed in with a lot of laughter and serious pondering. So, I was forming this idea of “doing devotions” as we occupy the steps of life – carrying around the Word like it’s written right on our hearts and hidden in a treasure chest in our minds. I was forming this idea and Ale says,

“Miss, I have an idea. I think we don’t make a time for devotions because we are the devotions… like we do a devotion all day long.”

Not only was I excited that we both arrived at the same conclusion, but my heart lept with joy that we both believe a relationship with the Lord is alive and active and occupies our souls 24/7. The words from Scripture jump into our conversations and mix in with our laughter and inform our philosophies about how the world turns.

The process is always as beautiful as the conclusion – like the thrill of preparing a delicious cupcake and then serving it to someone to enjoy. Both the preparation and the presentation are equally satisfying (as the chef).

This is an example of an occupied life where every moment is oh-so-delicious!

Posted on by Caroline 10

pink grass – an illustration

A couple weeks ago, I wrote the post, “what if the grass was pink?” and thought it made all sorts of sense (of course, all my ideas do… in my head). Judging from my sister’s blank stare and a stranger’s lengthy comments about how I wanted to dismantle the entire psychiatric system (among other things), I decided I had maybe missed my mark. This is my attempt to give an illustration that will hopefully make it more understandable and less like I want someone on acid to take over the world.

This is an exercise in imagination, so put on your best thinking hat. Ready?

A collection of cans of paint and other relate...

——-

Imagine a palette of paints with every color possible (I know, it’s a pretty big paint palette). Now, imagine your world in monochrome. Imagine everything you see and touch today as some shade of black/white/gray. Imagine the computer screen and your clothes and your make up and the flowers on the table and the sun outside… imagine everything you see is like the world of “I Love Lucy.”

Things are pretty dull in the colorless world, yes?

Okay. Now go back to that palette of paints with every possible color (even colors we can’t think up). Imagine someone choosing, color by color, how to bring your world to life. With an infinite palette of options, the possibilities are endless.

Roses could be… turquoise. Tree trunks might be… sapphire. Sunlight will be… purple.

——–

It’s not hard to imagine ourselves as artists painting a canvas where up is down and the sunshine glows blue. I suppose today they call it abstract.

So, why is it so hard to imagine the infinite number of options God had when He created everything in the beginning? We’ve since found thousands of reasons to explain WHY the sun shines golden and the grass grows green, but couldn’t it have turned out differently?

God could have chosen any color to paint the sky.
He chose blue.
Now there is a whole new beauty wrapped up in the mystery of a blue sky.
God could have chosen any of an infinite amount of colors.
He chose blue.

Yes, we can explain why it is blue scientifically, but it didn’t have to be blue. God didn’t consult science textbooks as he spoke things into existence, to see whether certain color combinations were possible or if the law of gravity would really be universal.

Science just attempts to explain how God ordered everything by divine choice.

If the sky was green we would find scientific support that would lead us to believe it couldn’t be any other way.

And that is how we cheat ourselves out of the magic of Creation. I mean magic in a good and not creepy sense.
I mean… the look you got in your eyes when you first saw fireworks because you didn’t think such beautiful explosions possible.
I mean… the building emotion you feel when you watch a stunning sunset or witness a double rainbow or wake up to see mysterious fog lifting from a lake.

There is a healthy sense of awe I hope I always feel when I stop to think about how (out of an infinite palette of options) God chose the luscious color green for grass. Because, you see, it could be pink.

Posted on by Caroline 6

the greatest party that ever was

There is something distinctly urgent about endings.

We become keenly aware of our submission to the passing of time. We can throw any kind of emotional tantrum, but the hands of the clock march steadily on whether we look at them with anger or pain or excitement. There is absolutely nothing we can do to slow down the moments before a farewell.

Urgency usually holds hands with action, at least in my experience. You won’t find me pondering the merit of a deadline when it is fast approaching; you will find me in a frenzy to get done what needed doing.

And so it is today. Somewhere down in the place I call my soul, urgency and action are holding hands. I am looking ahead to June 24, an ending that looms like an ominous thundercloud on one of the distant mountains surrounding this beautiful city and what I feel is urgency.

What if the 18 school days left on the Seniors’ calendar is really all I have left with them? What if I never see them again? What if I never get the chance to hug the Micah boys again or make a Mother’s Day craft at the feeding centers or visit the orphanage in Valle? The urgency sets in and I feel the insistent squeeze on action’s hand.

The past week, quite unintentionally, I have realized the beautiful urgency of the questions,

“For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?”

No encouragement is too cheesy and no compliment is too awkward, no question is too silly and no conversation is too strange; and eternity is always relevant. More than any words of wisdom (as that creeping clock trudges on toward my June 24 farewell), the action my urgency brings about is all about ETERNITY.

What do I say if I’m facing a great wave of “lasts” and “don’t knows” from people who have woven their way into my story?

I tell an old, old story about love. I tell a story about a perfect, powerful beginning broken by bitter disappointment and resolved by the only thing strong enough to redeem and restore: a sacrifice of greatest price. I tell a story of Creation, Fall, and Redemption, Restoration. I tell a story about lost sheep and celebrations and the greatest party that ever was.

This past week, I told this story five different ways to one student who, after 14 years, finally has ears to hear. God’s story – the Gospel story – finally started making sense and it was the only story I wanted to tell when I thought about leaving. God’s story has the power to change a person’s eternity. God’s story has the power to give hope and a future, to cast out fear, to give purpose and meaning, to bring joy and pleasure forever, and to throw the greatest party that ever was.

In my students, I see a desire to search out the most joy and pleasure. I see a search for meaning and worth and purpose and excitement. In all sorts of ways, I’ve tried to communicate where these desires will be satisfied – always and only in Christ alone. But now, with the days flying off the calendar like jet planes from a runway,
nothing
else
matters.

Because I care about these kids so much, the best thing (really the only thing) I can think to give them is an invitation to the greatest party that ever was.
I just want to give them Jesus.

more than ever, I’m feeling the urgency to 

let LOVE fly like cRaZy

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Posted on by Caroline 5

post-Easter, pre-Eternity

Most people know the tension between living salvation on this earth and living eternal salvation in heaven as the “already, not yet.” To reflect on this tension after Easter seems fitting, because all of history points to Christ’s victory over the grave yet all of creation is still groaning for the completion of salvation (Romans 8). Today I am calling it post-Easter, pre-Eternity.

I spent yesterday almost entirely in laughter. The day felt bathed with it. I am convinced there is something beautiful to be found in abandoning yourself to a good fit of ridiculous laughter. Yesterday, with friendships too new to feel so “old,” I scrunched up my face and held my sides in a crazy fit of full body laughter. This, too, seems fitting to follow my Easter celebration. In fact, I imagine (call me a fool) that some people let out awkward laughter when they saw Jesus after news of the empty tomb got around. Everyone stood gawking and pointing (I imagine) and then there were those few whose laughter could be heard spilling all over the silence. Sometimes awe, wonder, joy, mischief, and glee can be communicated no other way.

So, there’s this tension. Salvation is here, but salvation is coming.

We are wrapped up in the glory of what Christ gained in his victory over the grave. We are bathing in it like I imagine joyful laughter bathed Christ’s post-resurrection steps. Tim Keller says, “The happy ending of the Resurrection is so enormous that it swallows up even the sorrow of the Cross.” Even our sorrows drown in the ocean of joy called Christ’s resurrection.

Yet, we all know we’re living on this side of eternity. We recognize black-clad funerals and cold, gray gravestones as the painful pattern of our mortality. We are certain no one has found or ever will find the secret to living forever. We are (in our most honest moments) more certain of the fact that living forever in this present world would be filled only with anguish and affliction.

Today, I am claiming a common denominator. For those of you who know me, I am in no place to use a mathematical reference and even further from qualified to stretch it into something helpful for my ideas. Yet, here I go. A “denominator” is the bottom number of a fraction (like 2 in 1/2). A “common denominator” is when the bottom numbers of fractions are the same (like 3 in 1/3 and 2/3). In other words, I think post-Easter, pre-Eternity is kind of like 1/2 and 1/2 – two parts of a whole redemption story. The common denominator? I wonder if it is glory. I believe Christ’s death and resurrection is all about bringing glory to God. I also believe our anticipation for Eternity is about bringing glory to God. This whole beautiful mess of a redemption story, from start to eternal finish is about glory going in the right direction – toward a most Awesome, Merciful, Compassionate, Just King.

In our (especially recent) post-Easter state, we are giving God the glory for the magnificent and finished work of Christ. In our pre-Eternity state, we are giving God the glory for a secure future in His presence. Whew! Here are two songs that come to mind when I think post-Easter, pre-Eternity. Sing along with them and let God’s glory fill the skies! Join the angels in this forever song! Please don’t miss the rich references to the Old Testament and how God is glorified in the ways His sovereign plan was revealed and His name praised long before it came to pass.

Skeleton Bones by John Mark McMillan

Peel back our ribs again
and stand inside of our chest.
We just wanna’ love you
We just wanna’ love you

Peel back the veil of time
And let us see You with our naked eyes
We just wanna’ love you
We just wanna’ love you

We want your blood to flow inside our body
We want your wind inside our lungs
We just wanna’ love you
We just wanna’ love you

Skeleton bones stand at the sound of eternity
On the lips of the found
And gravestones roll
To the rhythm of the sound of you
Skeleton bones stand at the sound of eternity
On the lips of the found
So separate those doors
And let the son of resurrection in.

Oh let us adore the
Son of Glory drenched in love
Open up your gates before him
Crown Him, stand Him up

Holy is the Lamb by Coffey Anderson

Lyrics:

I saw the Lord, seated on the throne
And the train of His robe filled the temple
And angels sing all around me
And the song that they sang was so simple

All they cried was:
Holy, holy is the Lamb
Holy, holy is the Lamb
Holy, holy is the Lamb
Holy, holy is the Lamb of God

let LOVE fly like CrAzY

Posted on by Caroline 2