• Home
  • Posts RSS
Blue Orange Green Pink Purple

"Christianity's not about having a bunch of right answers to the questions. It's about encountering a person named Jesus."

But don't you know who you are,
What has been done to you?
Don't you know who you are?

You are more than the choices that you make
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes
You are more than the problems you create -
You've been remade.

101st post! I thought someone else's words were more deserving of this auspicious place than my own. (Mike gave this talk almost word-for-word at the concert I attended... when he says something about still recovering at the beginning, that's in reference to being in the Christian school system. I hope the related song - which was excellent too; lyrics above - is on the new album. ^_^)

Read More 0 Missages | scribbled by Unknown edit post

"When I bow to God, God stoops to me."

I wasn't going to write a post for every Tenth Avenue North song, and I'm still not trying to, but I was listening to Lift Us Up To Fall on Sunday afternoon and several images popped into my head. So I'm linking y'all to a Youtube video with the song - 'tisn't going to be on the actual playlist. This is just something that may or may not develop into a complete album-series. If I do actually make it through all the songs, I may have to try the same with an Andrew or Bebo or Fernando album. We'll see.


LIFT US UP TO FALL - Four Images

1. Mind-games. Most people have experienced or at least witnessed the wonder that is the drop-it game. If you haven't, try standing by the highchair of a not-quite baby, not-quite toddler. Wait for something to inevitably fall from the tray to the ground. It may be a sippy-cup, pacifier, blanket, spit-up rag, what-have-you--something non-breakable and (usually) non-edible. When the item hits the floor the first time, you grin a little and think "aww, poor (cute!) baby" and pick it up and give it back. But it goes over the edge again - and again - and again - and after the fifteenth time picking it up you begin to think "cute kid? he's manipulating me!" Fifty falls later, your spin begins to cramp, and so you decide to walk away. One step from the highchair and he begins to howl. You feel like a jerk.

No, this doesn't have any spiritual implications regarding our relationship to God - or at least no positive ones. Maybe we are all little, manipulated children clamouring for attention and throwing stuff around for God to pick it up. I like to think God wouldn't be fooled by that, that he is able to tell between those who sincerely seek Him and those who just want stuff (the Bible likes to think this as well). So this isn't really analogous to anything - it's just what I think of when I hear and lift us up to fall... Big, pleading blue eyes with a spark of malicious glee, waiting for me to pick up that spit-up rag for the gajillionth time.

Moving on...

2. My Sin. Paul describes the continual tripping-up of the flesh in Romans 6. When I hear this song, I can't help but think of the many times even daily that God takes me into his arms and lovingly affirms his promises for me, only for me to respond with betrayal and sin. Though I don't think this is the focus of the song, it works. God is strong to lift us up, and has done so in a powerful, eternally-changing way. At the same time as God sees the work of Christ in me perfected forever, I have a much more finite point of view. God sees that Christ has paid; I am still seeing why Christ had to pay in the first place. Andrew Peterson knows this well when he sings: I'm weak and weary of breaking His heart with the cycle of my sin. Still, he turns his face to me and I kiss it just to betray him once again." But the cycle of our sin does not continue forever. The song continues: Amen, Come Lord Jesus. One day, Christ will come and lift us up into heaven, and we will fall on our faces before him with a holy adoration that is wholly adoration, not streaked with shame or sorrow or guilt.

3. Mercy. My knees are shaking under the weight of my body. My head is light, and yet hangs heavy, sagging below my shoulders. I deserve to die; I know it. Any moment now I will hear the words Take her away! ridden with righteous anger and condemnation. I do not merit even a pleading glance in His direction.

Then He speaks.

"Take her away," He says. There is no anger in His voice. I half-look up, then catch myself. I dare not hope... "Take her away, and dress her in the finest of robes. She shall dine with me tonight. Her sins are pardoned." I cannot believe it--I, a murderer, an adulteress, a thief, I who spat in His face when first He offered me love and security--it is too much to bear or think that I have been pardoned, and yet He adds more! Garments--food--His own company...!

I think my heart will explode. He has exalted me, raised me from my shame, and I can stand before Him no longer. I throw myself to the ground at His feet.

4. Ministry. This essentially comes from the line in the song: You send the rain and life begins, so rain on us and reign within our lives again.

When I focused on that line I realized: isn't that how the Gospel works? We are lifted up, receive life-bringing rain from the hands of our Savior, and then given the commission to carry this life to the entire world. So lift us up to fall - raise us in Your life so that our joyful proclamations of that life may fall like the rain that gives life to dead seed upon a world of deadened hearts that thirst for Christ, the one whose rain and reign in us both enables and sustains the ministry of His body.

Draw us near, heal these broken hearts, and lift us up to fall
Before everything you are.
Read More 2 Missages | scribbled by Unknown edit post

An Inky Book Review: North! Or Be Eaten

“Hearing Oskar call him and his siblings ‘the stuff of legends’ gave Janner goose bumps, but it also gave him a shiver in his stomach. He had read enough stories to know that legends became so by great suffering and great feats. Janner didn’t want to suffer, and he wasn’t sure he was brave enough or smart enough to accomplish anything legendary. ... [He] shook his head at the wonder of it.”
-North! Or Be Eaten, Chapter 28: “O Anyara!”


By Way Of Introducing

Every now and again, my youngest brother Calvin (8) invites me to ‘play outside’ with him. Usually we go for a walk, hunt for skinks, or perform some similar venture requiring nothing but a stick or two and a wealth of imagination. These times are immensely precious and endearing. Long will I treasure in my memory the winding, lilting conversations, or when Calvin breaks into a period of silence with a dreamy statement of “I like our family; don’t you?” We are always building stories together—stories about the neighbors’ horses, about dragonflies meeting the evil wasps in battle. There are many speculations to be made—the smallest llama of the pack that surely has the greatest spitting-range of the lot. And then there are the millions of wee, childlike fantasies beginning with “Wouldn’t it be cool if…?” These moments of seeing the world through a child’s eyes and really almost being a child again myself are the moments worth remembering, for they are the moments when God paints his world with the boldest and most beautiful colours of grace and my mind’s eye is free to behold with wonder.

All that digression is to say, if walks with my youngest brother were books, they’d be Andrew Peterson’s Wingfeather Saga. As a fan of Andrew Peterson, this comes as a reaffirmation of what I’ve known (and been delighted by) since Track 4 of his Far Country album: Andrew’s little boy heart is most definitely still alive (the song’s name is “Little Boy Heart Alive,” by the way). Everything I’ve come to appreciate and expect of Messr. Peterson—which is quite a bit—was met and surpassed in these books. The language is striking and poetic (no surprise to anyone who’s paid an ounce of attention to his song lyrics), the story is simple enough to be beautiful and complex enough to be engaging (sort of like the Gospel content in his songs), and did I mention? The ‘scope of this man’s imagination seems to know no limits. When it comes to personalities and creatures, you never know what you’ll meet around the next bend in this story (think Narnia meets Milne's Winnie-ther-Pooh). The only thing you know for certain is that you’ve never seen the likes of it before…

Who Is Andrew Peterson?

Andrew Peterson is the author of On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, Book One in the Wingfeather Saga, and The Ballad of Matthew’s Begats. He’s also the critically-acclaimed singer-songwriter and recording artist of ten albums, including Resurrection Letters II. He and his wife, Jamie, live with their two sons and one daughter in a little house they call The Warren near Nashville, Tennessee. Visit his websites: www.andrew-peterson.com and www.rabbitroom.com

What Is The Story?

Without giving away too much of the plot (hopefully), the general idea of the story is as follows. On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (Book 1 of the Saga) tells the tale of Janner Igiby, a young Skreean lad with an imagination which is beginning to stretch past the boundaries of his family’s little cottage in Glipwood. His thirst for adventure and desire to find out more about his past lead Janner, his brother Tink, and his sister Leeli through a series of trials and adventures. Dark Sea culminates with the revelation that they’re not just ordinary children, but the stuff of legends, heirs to a kingdom across the sea.

In North! Or Be Eaten (Book 2), the story continues to center around Janner. The Igiby children quickly discover that being the stuff of legends basically means that ‘most everybody good has forgotten you and ‘most everybody bad wants to kill you. Thus, they are forced to flee Glipwood Town and their childhood world. Their escape brings readers to the very brink of Fingap Falls, over the Stony Mountains, and across the Ice Prairies, while villains galore try to stop the Igibys permanently. Fearsome toothy cows and horned hounds return, along with new dangers: a mad man running a fork factory (woe!), a den of rockroaches, and majestic talking sea dragons (quite possibly the best literary rendering of dragons ever, I think).

Repent! Or Be Eaten (Not Really, But Yeah)

In one sense, North! isn’t obviously written by a Christian. There is nothing overtly Christian or moralizing about the tale. It takes place in another world, and while the family serves ‘the Maker’ there are no references to Christ or God’s Word. At the same time, in another sense, the author is obviously a Christian because the story resounds with the Christian imagination. The themes and movement of the story just make sense to a Christian mind. Yes, the style and plot are creative and exciting, but they’re also familiar because they come from a well of Christian suppositions and Christ-centered thinking.

For instance, in the first book the evil from the broader world has to be brought to light in the semi-idyllic lifestyle of the Igibys. There’s a brilliant scene where Janner is enjoying the happy scene of a festival, until the well-placed remark of an elder opens his eyes to the falseness of this happiness. Janner has grown up happy and content, but only because his eyes have been stopped to the misery and joylessness of the existence of those around him. Once his eyes are opened, he and his family are unable to live in complacency towards the evil around them any longer. This progression is easily related to the Christian life: it’s easy to build a cocoon around ourselves and pretend that there isn’t a war raging over our heads, but sooner or later we must don our armour and step into the battle.

North! Or Be Eaten further explores the nature of that battle. Igiby children leavethe world which they had previously (in Dark Sea) only observed passively as it invaded their cocoon. As they battle the evil in the broader world, they discover more and more the struggle they face to pursue their callings in a Maker-honoring fashion rather than as a means of paying homage to Self. Suddenly, Janner has the responsibility of a legend on his shoulders. At the same time, he’s finding that the responsibility given him long before he discovered his heirship hasn’t gone anywhere, and proves to be the hardest of all to carry. This responsibility is perhaps more legendary than inheriting a kingdom: ‘love one another.’ This is easily understood in the Christian context as well: battling principalities and powers at work within our culture, all the while keenly aware of the battle for our own souls that takes place internally.

Another highly understandable theme is the triumph of good over evil. Darkness is not treated flippantly, but even when it gets awfully dark its conquest is never quite complete. There is also the conflict between hope and despair. Of course, hope reigns strong in a beautiful way, and there are even splashes of humor throughout the darkest of situations.

(Just as a disclaimer, the resounding Christianity throughout the book really is more of the total picture and definitely not restricted to a few specific ideas conjured by my own dubious brain. There are certainly specifics to be ‘logicked’ out of the plot, but I don’t want the idea of the totality of it obscured by my paltry specifics. It really is like being in a fictional place full of strange things one has never seen or heard of before—and yet finding yourself at home. That’s as best as I can describe it.)

By Way Of Concluding

If you haven't read Dark Sea or North!, do. The story is beautiful and engaging, and you'll have tons of fun. You’ll learn about Toothy Cows, Thwaps, Totatoes, the Fangs of Dang, and many other creatures and persons with delightfully odd names. But there’s more—there’s courage and laughter, sorrow and pain, hatred and darkness, and a whole lot of love. In an immensely fun way, North! Or Be Eaten portrays a world painted with the grace of God in wondrously bright colours. The ‘little boy heart alive’ of the story combined with a simple yet intricately-woven Christ-likeness turn a fun, lively fantasy tale into a bright gem of literature that can be understood and appreciated at many levels.

Oh - and be sure to watch those footnotes.

N.B.: Andrew Peterson’s bio, as well as portions of the book synopsis, were given me by the publicist and therefore are not actual inventions of my own. The same goes for the artwork and quote.
Read More 6 Missages | scribbled by Unknown edit post

"Love is something more stern and splendid than mere kindness."

Life's Soundtrack - Ep. 01: Love Is Here by Tenth Avenue North

I've been thinking about pain a lot recently.

Few people like pain, and it's not just because all pain is extremely painful. The general aversion to pain is largely due to pain's universal ability to remind us of our finitude. We have very little control over our bodies and the sicknesses that enter and leave them. Oh, we're quite good at masking pain - if it's drugs you need for that, we have them a-plenty. But in the medical field, almost nobody talks about curing things anymore. They help the body along a bit and hope it takes care of the rest, and in the meantime here's a happy pill to keep you from thinking about the hole we made in your body while we were cutting the cancer out (we really hope it doesn't come back).

It's the art of making comfortable, and not the art of curing, that is the obsession of our time. This explains the abundance of
painkillers. People don't want to be reminded of the peoplekiller (time) so they kill the reminder (pain). Time is in short supply for all of us regardless of age, but we'd rather kill the pain than have the pain kill the illusion of control. This is the real pain in pain: not that we are physiologically hurting, but that we are made aware of our soul-sickness and the consequences that sickness will reap after our impending death.

Like humanity in general, I have a problem with pain. But it's not the sort of problem you would think. I don't just hate pain, with the hatred increasing exponentially as the degree of pain increases. Lewis expresses my problem quite well in The Problem of Pain when he remarks that "everyone feels benevolent if nothing happens to be annoying him at the moment." We can make that more specific: Inky feels benevolent if nothing happens to be annoying her at the moment.

Keyword: annoying.

In my problem with pain, obnoxious pains are the worst. I have found that extreme sufferings - pain to the point of barely being able to lift one's head from one's pillow - awaken in me a sort of stoic martyrship. To a certain extent, I enjoy gritting my teeth and exhibiting a deathly pallor and wearing a (figurative) halo of gold while others tiptoe around me with hushed voices and praise my longsufferingness. But fill my sinuses and nose with mucus, or stick a dull pain in my gut, or even place the slightest soreness in my throat, and it's off with their heads to anyone who dares put one foot wrong in my presence. Break my leg in four places and you shan't hear a peep. Make my head ache and throb even in the slightest of ways, and I shall scream and rage inwardly and throw down my work and protest that I shall never get anything done, and my life is ruined - vanity of vanities, all ends in naught.

Regarding pain, it is as if I have pledged: Lord, thy bitterest pills I shall swallow gladly with the utmost and saintliest placidity; however, I reserve the right to pitch a royal fit should you choose to afflict me with head colds and indigestion.

Why? Why does the little stuff get to me? Well... what do I mean by little stuff, and what do I mean by it getting to me?

Let's take the latter first, returning to the idea of obsession with feeling healthy and its accompanying motives. When pain gets to me, it elicits an angry, ungodly response - e.g., lashing out at a person or circumstance in my life. I am angry at God because he gives me pain. I hate God because I love my own comfort more (serving the latter Master and hating the former). I hate God because I have bought into this obsession, because I would rather think of myself as the infinite one.

This leads to the former part of the statement, the little stuff. I mentioned how it is (relatively) easy to resist the temptation to wail and moan when the afflictions are extreme, especially if they are short-lived and not frequent occurrences. Extreme pain practically screams: "Curse God and die!" It's the dim, dull, obnoxious pains that are of very little consequence to anyone but ourselves that cause me (us?) so much trouble. Where big pain screams, little pain whispers. Where big pain is obvious, little pain throws in subtleties. Thus, "little stuff" is a misnomer. If little stuff were seen as it really is, the reason why it gets to me is obvious: it really isn't all that little.

I once used the analogy of a man who is offered the option to jump over a cliff only to realize he has already done so. The analogy was intended to describe a person who faces a blatant temptation and, standing on the edge of committing something terrible, realizes his heart had been turned against God in anger long before. So it is with an angry response to pain. My brother irritates me; I respond in anger, and then I am guilty the rest of the day. Perhaps I only snapped a "no" or "go away," but the memory is bitter with guilt not only because I just committed something wrong, but because I am now aware of a long-standing disposition of hatred towards God. This hatred is not limited to one action of anger. It is preceded by a host of uncorrected and long-cherished sins of the heart against my thrice-holy Redeemer.

So I not only obsessed with feeling good, but I have been buying into this anti-God obsession for a very long time. No wonder there is a deep fountain of bitterness in my heart that wells up and out against God every time something small and painful bounds into my life. My problem with pain turns out to be (as most sins do) a problem with God. As Orual discovers in 'Til We Have Faces, having a problem with God does not mean God has a problem. When I hate God, it is not because He is deserving of my hatred, but because I do not believe He is able at once to love me and to give me pain. When I hate God it is not because He deserves my hatred, but because I would rather be healthy than cling to Him as my Healer. When I hate God it is not because He deserves my hatred, but because I find my identity and security in how I feel rather than what He has promised to feel toward me: love, for all eternity, without alteration or retraction. God is not the problem. Like Orual, I am the problem.

If I am the problem, then I am certainly not the cure, nor can my efforts toward one have any effect. I have before resolved in my heart, time and again, to be quiet - to refrain from murmuring - to focus all my effort on keeping my mouth shut when I know the pain is at just the right level to induce anger. This, I can say with absolute assurance, does nothing. I cannot make myself stop being bitter. The sickness goes much deeper than raging, discontent appearances, and so must the cure be infinitely deeper than a placid and content outward disposition.

For this hatred of an infinite God and the obsession with lying to myself about my finitude - for these wells of bitterness and unbelief that come from the continual harboring of sin at its subtlest, most deadly form, there is only one cure - "only" one, but what a cure! Pain, which once whispered to my soul words of sedition and rebellion, now is the means to plant of a flag of truth within the fortress of my rebel soul (paraphrase of Lewis). The cure is the one who at once plants the flag and is the flag.

He is the one who reconciles us finite beings to an infinite God, so that we may not fear time but live in the hopeful expectation of eternity with Him.

He met sin and pain and death in battle and emerged victorious.

He crushed sin on the cross, and continually crushes it in my life through his intercessory work at the right hand of the Father on my behalf.

He is the Word, the Truth, and as the sharpest of any two-edged swords at once reveals and decimates the subtlest of lies.

The cure is Christ.


"...but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

On that very roundabout note (ha ha), my song for this week is
Love Is Here by Tenth Avenue North (and before anyone rolls their eyes, I honestly intended to put this song first before I went to the concert). According to the band, Romans 5:8 (above, bold/italic) provided the inspiration for this - especially the present tense of the verb show.

The title of the song was a bit off-putting for me at first, so I feel a bit of defense is in order. See, I've heard Christians complain - mostly heard myself complain - that too much of Christian music focuses on the love of God and ignores other aspects of truth to much harm. In one sense, I agree.
The love of God is but one aspect of God's character, and to assume that it is the only aspect is a very serious error - and repeating vapid declarations of how great we feel with no solid understanding of who God is and what he has done is at once irritating and useless. A song with the title Love Is Here in a time when songs that are abounding in love without any understanding of Who defines love just didn't seem that promising.

At the same time, I disagree with that. Take the following statement (something I've both heard and said myself):
"Instead of going on and on about the love of God and how happy we are, more ought to be said about sin - about fighting for holiness - less of this feel-good stuff and more of the Truth." While I have nothing to say against songs with messages about the fight for holiness and Truth, I believe this is a false dichotomy.

See, there is no difference between fighting to know God loves us and fighting to (desire to) be as He is. Time and again the children of Israel are told to Remember! what God has done for them - not because they'll fail their history module and won't earn degrees and be employable, but because without remembering how God acts towards them in love they are doomed to hate everything He does and rebel against His every plan.

The fight to believe God loves us is the fight against sin, and therefore reminders of God's love are equipment for battle (provided they provide a true picture of said love, something TAN's songs do exceptionally well). Those who hear songs about the love of God and respond with only fuzziness (or even think that the only potential response is fuzziness) are missing something huge. To know that God loves us for who Christ is and not who we are is the battle. As a battle, it is the source of the blood in our mouths and the sweat pouring down our faces and the ache and strain in our muscles. There is nothing feel-good or fuzzy about it.

In
The Knowledge of the Holy (ch. 8, "The Infinitude of God"), A.W. Tozer describes the love of God in terms of his infinity:

"The Christian witness through the centuries has been that "God so loved the world . . .”; it remains for us to see that love in the light of God’s infinitude. His love is measureless. It is more: it is boundless. It has no bounds because it is not a thing but a facet of the essential nature of God. His love is something He is, and because He is infinite that love can enfold the whole created world in itself and have room for ten thousand times ten thousand worlds beside."

If I could but cling to the truth that Christ's infinite love
can enfold ten thousands upon ten thousands upon ten thousands of worlds, and thus surely is able to at once enfold and soak into every aspect of my life, into the pain and the comfort and all areas in between - would I not have killed the tendency to kick against God's plan? Would I not have killed my obsession with obsessing with things that are not God and clearly were not intended by God to be my Master?

As I began with the futility of earthly medicine, let me end with the all-sufficiency of our heavenly Healer. Christ stands in stark contrast to the obsession with making comfortable. He is not a painkiller designed to numb us into a false state of comfort 'till death destroys us. His cure is not free from pain, but once complete it will free us from all the pains of sin and death.

This cure is to be found in knowing that love is here - love measureless and boundless and infinite, and not love in some nebulous, dim sense. The love that has come is Love as defined by the nature of God and demonstrated by Christ in His death and life.

Such a Love is here, it is now - and here and now it is ours in Christ.


So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. -1 John 4:16
Read More 4 Missages | scribbled by Unknown edit post

"The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps."

So - there is no longer a new layout, but there are a few slight changes, one of those being a semi-permanent explanation for the sudden appearance and then even more sudden disappearance of said new layout (which is now in the past and actually an old layout... go read Augustine's mumblings on time if you want to make your head spin with this. Much as I like seeing heads spin, I shan't bite tonight).

Anyhow, I just wanted to sort of introduce a couple of things that ought to be popping up soon.

1. Book Review. I've agreed to be part of the blog tour for Andrew Peterson's North! Or Be Eaten (tee hee - yes, that is pretty much a me-title... only I didn't write it...), which means I'll be giving a few thoughts on the book and such. Look for that somewhere between September 14 - 18.

2. Story. I've been hashing out an allegoryish over the last week or so. It's been slow-going for the most part; finally started coming along this morning. I'm trying to finish that up before it dries out and gets dusty.

3. Songs. I've added this handy little mixpod-thingamajig to the sidebar over there. It lets you make your own music playlist and paste it up wherever, and in the spirit of conforming to a me-centered culture - oh, no, wait. The point of this is to not be me-centered. Anyhow, I've taken to referencing songs in my posts, and I'm always trying to foist music off onto other people, so I thought: why not make that a regular habit? There are many songs that have had pretty deep impacts on my life, so I'm thinking of making a weekly or bimonthly habit of writing a post on why/how a specific song has effected me, and then try to get it up on that playlist so you can hear it - because while I try to be a bit selective with lyrics quality, everyone knows that (lyrics + music = uber win) > (lyrics). There's only one song up now - I've referenced it before - but I'll give it its own post before I continue.

Such are my plans. Reality, no doubt, shall tell a vastly different tale.
Read More 4 Missages | scribbled by Unknown edit post

At the End of the Rainbow

This is basically a journal-entry from a month or so ago that I never actually wrote down directly after it happened. I remembered the experience last night and felt I needed to write it down - not to preserve it for all posterity, but because I needed to sort of go through it again. It was a good experience. The format of characters is a bit odd, but I hope it's not too confusing and that nobody misses the twist-ish at the end.

At the End of the Rainbow

{This story isn't about what's at the end of the rainbow. People are always trying to get there, always chasing that something wonderful that will make their lives perfect. More people find it than one would expect, but they find themselves empty-handed, because there's nothing there but a rainbow's end. But maybe that's the problem right there - and the solution. This story is about the rainbow's purpose, the rainbow's reason for existing, the rainbow's end... We come asking for Things. He sends us away with Himself.}

She stalked from the house, away from the small, angry things that shook her world and filled her mind with hate. The storm brewing between her ears was matched by the low rumble of thunder from the grey sky above her. A few raindrops spattering down did nothing to dampen her mood, for it was already drenched through and through.

I saw her and felt myself scowling, both with and at her. I despised her for her self-righteous sulking, yet it was somehow very like my own.

Her steps increased in speed as she mounted a low hill and followed the winding, tar-blackened road down the other side. She seemed not to notice the occasional skid or slip of a foot on the slick, shining surface of the road, so intent was she on the road at the ground just before her feet. Oil leftover from cars left dull rainbows here and there, and she kicked at them. The air was clean and cool. She sucked it in and blew it out with an almost vicious air.

I noted the deepening line of her brow. I could almost hear her thoughts thumping by with the rhythm of her feet, or hissing heavily with her angry breathing, whirring with the occasional passing car.

"Joy comes in the morning," she muttered (and so I heard her mutter). "Aye, it comes then, but then the rest of the day wears on and wears it out. Joy must be very tired by the evening."

I looked at her. Joy did seem very tired in her just then--so tired, it might not have been joy at all.

"What then?" she continued. "Is joy only for the mornings--like dawn, something only to follow the utter dark?" She seemed to speak to the western sky, where the sun was setting with half-hearted glory through a mass of grey-brown. "Is grace only the very wicked, and never the petty, the trivial, the weary? Sins of dusk may seem pale, but I ache from their numbers. Is there no saving comfort before the dark of night?"

I ached with her.

She turned sharply down another fork in the road, storming down the hill.

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair.

"You promised!" she gulped, clutching her hair as if that would keep tears from falling. "'I am with you always, even to the end of the age' - remember that? Does that not include the end of one day?"

I had to jog to keep up with her now. She burst over the next hill and halted abruptly. So did I. I heard her sharply draw breath.

She stood, transfixed, gazing eastward at an arc of colour peeping steadily over the trees. Then, without further thought or speech, she ran in earnest, splashing through puddles and muddying her trousers to find the clear view she knew waited just 'round the bend after the next.

I watched her halt once again, lifting her face to the sky. She seemed to breathe in the colours. I could almost feel her thoughts, not huffing or thumping or hissing, but whispering with the wind that stirred the hair on her forehead.

She lifted to the blazing arch of colours, clearer and brighter than any she remembered seeing before. A rhyme from the days of learning the alphabet in her childhood flitted unbidden through her mind.

Rainbows in the sky are promises to men
That the Lord will not flood the whole earth again.

As surely as she remembered the names of each colour, she remembered. Yes, she remembered the colours' names - red, yellow, purple - yet there seemed to be no name for the whole. 'Rainbow' didn't seem to do it justice.

And then she saw herself clearly: striding down the road, eyes fixed to the path before her, kicking at dirty little prisms on the oily tar - when all along glory had been waiting in the full expanse of the horizon.

I heard her sigh a little - or maybe it was a sob - and realized she was craning her head back further. She had spotted a second rainbow above the first.

"Thank you," she breathed, voice cracking just a little. It was time to return, so she turned back the way she came, but as she walked she kept her face toward the east, neck twisting awkwardly to keep the glorious image before her as long as possible.

Even when the trees blocked the rainbows from view, I knew she could still see, and I didn't understand. I walked in her shoes, breathed her air, wore her skin - but I didn't understand. Why had her eyes glowed with a fever that I could not diagnose or treat? How could she walk as if a burden had been lifted? Nothing had changed; she had merely discovered a bit of pretty sky. And--what was she murmuring?

"Joy comes in the morning," she sighed contentedly. "It may be weary by evening, but the Giver is not. He will give--and give--and give again, and each time shall be newer than the last." Her words were wrapped in sadness and exhaustion and hope.

I looked at her feet--my feet. Her thoughts were quiet. I wanted them to speed up again. I liked the crashing waves, the thunderstorm of anger and confusion. I couldn't comprehend this sudden stillness.

Finally, she stopped at the top of the first hill, eyes turned westward. The grey of the sky had now been overcome by fiery red-gold, and it seemed to her as she looked out that the lingering traces of thunder in the air were distant hoofbeats. She thought she glimpsed 'midst the scarlet and the gold a shining rider, wielding a gleaming sword for terror and for love. And very soon, a resounding cry from his mouth would ring: "Behold! I make all things new!"

I couldn't see anything.
Read More 1 Comment | scribbled by Unknown edit post
Newer Posts Older Posts Home

The Blind Leads:

  • A Spirit Not Of Fear
  • A Vapor in the Wind
  • Define "Weird"
  • Logbook 98
  • Petr's Blog
  • Scribbles & Ink Stains
  • The Everyday Miracle
  • The Penslayer
  • The Poetry of Lost Things
  • Winged Writings & Feathered Photos

The Authoress

Unknown
View my complete profile

Currently Writing:

Currently Writing:
Summary: A raggle-taggle tale of... something. Romance, children's fairy tales, and the misadventures of a detective all thrown together into one cup. Let steep 3-5 minutes. Cream and sugar, according to taste.
Progress: 22,346 words
Status: In-Progress

Currently Listening to:

  • Birds On a Wire - Hawk in Paris
  • Worn - Tenth Ave. North
  • Waking the Dead - MPJ
  • Not With Haste - Mumford & Sons
  • Amsterdam - Imagine Dragons
  • Firstborn Son - Andrew Osenga
  • You'll Find Your Way - Andrew Peterson

Currently Devouring (Figuratively)

  • Signs Amid the Rubble - Newbigin
  • The White Horse King - Merkle
  • Monster in the Hollows - Peterson
  • Little Dorrit - Dickens
  • Notes from the Underground - Dostoevsky

Read the Printed Word!

Twitter & Chirp:

Lighthearted Labels:

A.A. Milne Andrew Peterson Battling Unbelief Beauties That Pierce Like Swords Beautiful People Brokenness Chesterton Darjeeling Falcon Dorothy Sayers Dusty Greeks I Need Jesus Jane Austen Joy in the Journey Lady Jane Life's Soundtrack LifeIsRelationship Love Miss Brewster OMySoul Odd Lewis References Paradoxes Pieces of poems Puritans Steep Tales Story Scribblage Tenth Avenue North The Extraordinary Ordinary Wodehouse Writer's Block

Ancient Scribblings

  • ► 2013 (5)
    • ► December 2013 (1)
    • ► July 2013 (1)
    • ► April 2013 (1)
    • ► March 2013 (1)
    • ► January 2013 (1)
  • ► 2012 (19)
    • ► October 2012 (2)
    • ► September 2012 (1)
    • ► August 2012 (5)
    • ► April 2012 (2)
    • ► March 2012 (2)
    • ► February 2012 (4)
    • ► January 2012 (3)
  • ► 2011 (64)
    • ► December 2011 (5)
    • ► November 2011 (4)
    • ► October 2011 (4)
    • ► September 2011 (3)
    • ► August 2011 (14)
    • ► July 2011 (4)
    • ► June 2011 (6)
    • ► May 2011 (4)
    • ► April 2011 (6)
    • ► February 2011 (6)
    • ► January 2011 (8)
  • ► 2010 (10)
    • ► December 2010 (1)
    • ► November 2010 (2)
    • ► October 2010 (3)
    • ► September 2010 (1)
    • ► August 2010 (2)
    • ► January 2010 (1)
  • ▼ 2009 (58)
    • ► December 2009 (4)
    • ► November 2009 (1)
    • ► October 2009 (1)
    • ▼ September 2009 (6)
      • "Christianity's not about having a bunch of right ...
      • "When I bow to God, God stoops to me."
      • An Inky Book Review: North! Or Be Eaten
      • "Love is something more stern and splendid than me...
      • "The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord esta...
      • At the End of the Rainbow
    • ► June 2009 (4)
    • ► May 2009 (5)
    • ► April 2009 (9)
    • ► March 2009 (6)
    • ► February 2009 (6)
    • ► January 2009 (16)
  • ► 2008 (41)
    • ► December 2008 (4)
    • ► November 2008 (4)
    • ► October 2008 (2)
    • ► September 2008 (6)
    • ► June 2008 (1)
    • ► May 2008 (6)
    • ► April 2008 (9)
    • ► March 2008 (2)
    • ► February 2008 (4)
    • ► January 2008 (3)
  • ► 2007 (8)
    • ► December 2007 (2)
    • ► November 2007 (5)
    • ► October 2007 (1)
  • Search






    • Home
    • Posts RSS
    • Comments RSS
    • Edit

    © Copyright Insanity Comes Naturally. All rights reserved.
    Blog Skins Designed by FTL Wordpress Themes | | Free Wordpress Templates. Unblock through myspace proxy.
    brought to you by Smashing Magazine

    Back to Top