The other day I was walking along the road eating some fabulously crunchy grapes. As I walked in the hot sun, I was meticulous about which grapes I ate first, avoiding those that were not as visibly appealing. As I neared the end of my walk and the end of the bag of grapes, I began throwing those grapes that seemed a little beat up into the near by wooded area. Coming to the last grape, I examined it and threw it a bit ahead of me in the street. My intention was to kick it the rest of the way home. I'd thrown it about 50 feet ahead of me, and increased my gait in anticipation of kicking the bruised and battered grape. Not 15 paces into my trot, my fun was interrupted by a baby bird who darted into the street, scooped the grape into its beak and transferred it to a nearby tree. There he began to greedily consume the grape, one bite at a time.
I stopped, taken aback at how quickly this turn of events morphed my frivolity into curiosity and indignation. This bird had taken risk. Clearly he had been watching me. This bird had stolen my bruised grape, and was now devouring it with delight! For some reason I have not been able to get that bird and my bruised grape out of my mind. Not necessarily because I mourn the loss of my grape, but because God taught me something powerful through it. It’s a lesson I hope will help some man or woman who has been thrown around and kicked about as if they are someone's play thing as well.
That little bird taught me that one person's toy can be another’s nourishment. Nothing had changed about that grape; it had simply found itself in the right context to be celebrated for all it had to offer. Hence, there is no need for you or I to be anything other than what God made us to be. That bruised grape couldn't be crunchy for me no matter how hard it tried. Time, circumstances, the thermos in my lunch bag had made that grape the bruised imperfect grape that it was, and despite its imperfections, to that bird it was nourishment - integral to its survival. Not only did the grape nourish him, but by the way he was tearing that thing up, you could tell it he was getting pleasure and satisfaction out of that grape. He savored it as if it was the best thing he had seen in a minute and he delighted in that grape as such. As men and women, we should spend less time trying to change ourselves to be what those who would treat us as play things want us to be, and align ourselves with those who consider us their nourishment - those that celebrate us, those that delight and savor us, bruises and all.
Ever Higher!
CB
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
To high to get over
To low to get under
Stuck in the middle and the pain is thunder
The words of the late great Michael Jackson could be considered the theme of my life for the past week. I am experiencing my first Durham Summer, and while it’s hot and sticky, just like I like it; my social life is anything but… I have always suffered from an acute case of longing – longing for love, laughter, movement, intensity in all of its forms. To my horror, God has been whispering words like moderation, quiet time and reflection in my ear, and while I love Him, I hate it. Summer isn’t for stillness! Summer is for frolicking, looking pretty and feminine in the wee hours of the night, sipping sangria with friends and new acquaintances, while the sultry air seduces your bare skin. It’s for dancing, and sweating, laughing and flirting, music and conversations on the porch that you never want to end. Summer is abundance, excess, late nights even though you have work in the morning, but waking up the next morning refreshed, because the sun beckons you for another day of play. Don’t get me wrong, I work during the summers too, but even the work seems easier when there is merriment to look forward to.
Alas, merriment cannot be found on my summer menu this year. Instead, I’ve been experiencing what I can only describe as the Durham doldrums. I’ve been bored… I mean really bored! Blame it on the fast paced life I lead during the school year, paper after paper being due, but it seems I have forgotten how to relax. While I have always been a thrill seeker, being in grad school has intensified my sense of purpose to such a degree, that I literally have a hard time not having something to do. The church I am interning at keeps me steadily busy during the day, but the evenings are treacherous. I’m used to a plethora of friends during the school year, but the summer months have me down to three, two of whom are pretty inconsistent. So what is an adrenaline junkie to do in a town that has 3 options for the social scene? 2 weeks into the summer and I’ve already done them to death. Which leads me to my earlier statement, The longing, otherwise known as my restlessness has set in.
The restlessness presents itself as a nagging, comparable to the way I feel when I know a long paper is due and I need to get started in the worst way. Essentially I feel like I NEED to do something, get out, meet someone, anyone. The other weekend I made friends with a moth who mistakenly found himself in my apartment. I named him Marty. (Yeah, its that bad) The worst part about the nagging is there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. There is no where to go. I mean, I could call my faithful friend and have the same conversation for the 6000th time, but that’s usually when I my internal tantrums begin and Michael’s song starts reverberating in my mind. The longing is too high to get over. It’s too low to get under. I am indeed stuck in the middle.
Last Saturday night I found myself with a hunkering for some cake (otherwise know as desperately in need of at least investigating “the scene.” In my pursuit of “cake,” I hit 2 of the earlier mentioned social options. (In my defense one, does have some bangin’ sweet potato pie) I’m not really sure how I ended up in the lounge next door. But there I was. I am not a drinker so it’s not like I was in need of libations, but I am junkie. I thrive off of the energy of others, and this summer of solitude is about as fun as kneeling on rice. As I moved through the crowd I saw at least three folks I knew, all who must have been suffering from the same restlessness that was now upon me. But after a few minutes of conversation, I became conflicted. Did I really need to be out here? Its not that I felt like it was sinful to be out or anything, it just wasn’t what god wanted for me that evening. The whispering continued to plague me.
Moderation…
Be still….
Reflect…
Write….
Pray…
So what’s a girl who loves to live on the mountain top do when there’s nothing but plateaus for miles? Well in the midst of moderation and quiet time, God has also been whispering love where you are. Love where you are God? But I hate it here. I feel trapped, and that just makes me angry. And then it occurs to me. I am not trapped. I am exactly where God wants me to be. The only thing that’s holding me hostage is my attitude, my will. There I go again, wanting my own way and thinking I know better than God. I yield. I yield. I will probably have to yield again in another 10 minutes, but moderation, especially for an energy addict is a hard and slow lesson. But God doesn’t instruct us for no reason. He’s always up to something. So rather than be angry about a lack of distractions, I will rejoice that God wants my attention, and he’s removing those things that I would ordinarily put between us. Surely he’s making me over… And he’s making summer over too.
Ever Higher
CB
To low to get under
Stuck in the middle and the pain is thunder
The words of the late great Michael Jackson could be considered the theme of my life for the past week. I am experiencing my first Durham Summer, and while it’s hot and sticky, just like I like it; my social life is anything but… I have always suffered from an acute case of longing – longing for love, laughter, movement, intensity in all of its forms. To my horror, God has been whispering words like moderation, quiet time and reflection in my ear, and while I love Him, I hate it. Summer isn’t for stillness! Summer is for frolicking, looking pretty and feminine in the wee hours of the night, sipping sangria with friends and new acquaintances, while the sultry air seduces your bare skin. It’s for dancing, and sweating, laughing and flirting, music and conversations on the porch that you never want to end. Summer is abundance, excess, late nights even though you have work in the morning, but waking up the next morning refreshed, because the sun beckons you for another day of play. Don’t get me wrong, I work during the summers too, but even the work seems easier when there is merriment to look forward to.
Alas, merriment cannot be found on my summer menu this year. Instead, I’ve been experiencing what I can only describe as the Durham doldrums. I’ve been bored… I mean really bored! Blame it on the fast paced life I lead during the school year, paper after paper being due, but it seems I have forgotten how to relax. While I have always been a thrill seeker, being in grad school has intensified my sense of purpose to such a degree, that I literally have a hard time not having something to do. The church I am interning at keeps me steadily busy during the day, but the evenings are treacherous. I’m used to a plethora of friends during the school year, but the summer months have me down to three, two of whom are pretty inconsistent. So what is an adrenaline junkie to do in a town that has 3 options for the social scene? 2 weeks into the summer and I’ve already done them to death. Which leads me to my earlier statement, The longing, otherwise known as my restlessness has set in.
The restlessness presents itself as a nagging, comparable to the way I feel when I know a long paper is due and I need to get started in the worst way. Essentially I feel like I NEED to do something, get out, meet someone, anyone. The other weekend I made friends with a moth who mistakenly found himself in my apartment. I named him Marty. (Yeah, its that bad) The worst part about the nagging is there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. There is no where to go. I mean, I could call my faithful friend and have the same conversation for the 6000th time, but that’s usually when I my internal tantrums begin and Michael’s song starts reverberating in my mind. The longing is too high to get over. It’s too low to get under. I am indeed stuck in the middle.
Last Saturday night I found myself with a hunkering for some cake (otherwise know as desperately in need of at least investigating “the scene.” In my pursuit of “cake,” I hit 2 of the earlier mentioned social options. (In my defense one, does have some bangin’ sweet potato pie) I’m not really sure how I ended up in the lounge next door. But there I was. I am not a drinker so it’s not like I was in need of libations, but I am junkie. I thrive off of the energy of others, and this summer of solitude is about as fun as kneeling on rice. As I moved through the crowd I saw at least three folks I knew, all who must have been suffering from the same restlessness that was now upon me. But after a few minutes of conversation, I became conflicted. Did I really need to be out here? Its not that I felt like it was sinful to be out or anything, it just wasn’t what god wanted for me that evening. The whispering continued to plague me.
Moderation…
Be still….
Reflect…
Write….
Pray…
So what’s a girl who loves to live on the mountain top do when there’s nothing but plateaus for miles? Well in the midst of moderation and quiet time, God has also been whispering love where you are. Love where you are God? But I hate it here. I feel trapped, and that just makes me angry. And then it occurs to me. I am not trapped. I am exactly where God wants me to be. The only thing that’s holding me hostage is my attitude, my will. There I go again, wanting my own way and thinking I know better than God. I yield. I yield. I will probably have to yield again in another 10 minutes, but moderation, especially for an energy addict is a hard and slow lesson. But God doesn’t instruct us for no reason. He’s always up to something. So rather than be angry about a lack of distractions, I will rejoice that God wants my attention, and he’s removing those things that I would ordinarily put between us. Surely he’s making me over… And he’s making summer over too.
Ever Higher
CB
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