It's the Lord's House.

"It doesn't matter, its the Lord's house."

My friend (and roommate) gave me this profound statement tonight over dry Cheerios, me mumbling around at midnight.

Talking about church tomorrow, I said I could try going to my friend's church, but I wasn't sure I'd make it because I knew that if I walked in and saw Sandy, I would just loose it and start bawling. (She's a hugger. So I wouldn't just see her, she would see me, know the intensity of my pain and hurt and loss, and walk over and hug me in my personhood and in my pain.)

And Marilyn said, "That's okay, that's what church is for."

And I retorted with a bred of satire underline, "Yeah, but it's not my church."

And she said, "It doesn't matter, it's the Lord's house."

I stared back at her, stunned. Profounded.

And tonight, this reminder was a gift. The remembrance of Church. Of Sunday.

"It doesn't matter, because its the Lord's house."

Blessings. Amen. Welcome. All of it: tears, heaving, sobs, cries. Hearts bewildered. Because, today and tomorrow, it is always, the Lord's house. And I am welcomed there.

Words & Donkeys.

"Pin the tail on the donkey."

"What?!" She just looked at me, blankly with this funny, what-the-heck-are-you-talking-about half-grin, waiting.

And I laughed. "Pin the tail on the donkey. It's like the exact replica."

And we laughed. We were sitting, my roommates and I, at Panera, late this morning. Computing ourselves through facts and recollections and stories and tears and lots of laughter, and even extending ourselves to mocking bagels. But the therapeutic essence of laughter and bluntness said in genuine human love was peace-giving.

And I finished...

"Like the donkey on the wall. Getting pinned and pegged and plastered with all these things. A bunch of crap that it doesn't ask for, but just gets nailed to it."

She now looked with a bit more expectation and eyes-lit, almost getting it, and waiting for me to somehow make sense of this completely odd second-grade story analogy. Waiting.

"Like you know, the assumptions, the things said, the rumors spread or gossip given or manipulation of words that hasn't course or little justification, but will just be made or pegged anyway without concern of the donkey...

And all the donkey wants to say is:

STOP, you're hurting my ass!"

And we bolted in laughter and roared in our little booth, nooked into it with coats and bags and hazelnut refills and bagels with apparently "exotic", Eden apples... (sorry, funny inside-joke about the love of my Dutch Apple bagels which got completely demolished in our early talk...)

Because that completely obscure, absurd analogy was the exact depiction of it. Curses and foul concerns and languages and all.

--
PS: I make note, that I rarely, if ever, use swear words to share or articulate on this blog. But in this case, it was complete. It was necessary. And this story couldn't be given without it, because it was that that made it, complete.

Binded in Lyrics.

Rock of Ages,
When the day seems long
From this labor and this heartache
I have come;
The skies will wear out,
But You remain the same
Rock of Ages,
I praise Your name.

Rock of Ages,
My great hope secure
Your promise holds
Just like an anchor to my soul;
Bind your children
With cords of love and grace
Rock of Ages,
We give You praise.

~ Sandra McCracken
Rock of Ages

~~~~~

So I lay down,
What I cannot hold in my hands
Every sorrow and hope
Spinning out of control
And here I find sweet resolution
Comes in letting go
And we will find shelter here.

~ Sandra McCrakcen
Shelter

No More, My God.

So, Sandra McCracken has this song called I Boast No More, but every time I hear it, all I hear is:

No more, my God

No more, my God

No more, my God.

Repetition in the chorus. Its about boasting, but it's never what I hear. I just hear this. And I play it over and over. I hear it as I drive down Highway 85 back from a day of school in September. And again as some of these days have lingered. No more, my God.

I am faithful. I will take what you give me. I will also take with it, the grace and mercy and promise that you WILL BE. But I will also, in this, lay submissive, weary hands, and ask in Gethsemane plea, but crimson obedience, No more, my God.

~~
PS -- Don't plague this the wrong way. I am in no way saying, nor trying to reference or draw parallel of me and Christ. But this imagine of him accepting his love of God the Father in the Garden, in the torture, in the submission, in the plea, is this picture that I see given, in these days, in these, some days.

Grace Upon Grace.

In every station, new trials and new troubles
Call for more grace than I can afford
Where can I go but to my dear Savior
For mercy that pours from boundless stores.

CHORUS:
Grace upon grace, every sin repaired
Every void restored, you will find Him there
In every turning He will prepare you
With grace upon grace.

He made a way for the fallen to rise
Perfect in glory and sacrifice
In sweet communion my need He supplies
He saves and keeps and guards my life

To Thee I run now with great expectation
To honor You with trust like a child
My hopes and desires seek a new destination
And all that You ask Your grace will provide.

CHORUS:
Grace upon grace, every sin repaired
Every void restored, you will find Him there
In every turning He will prepare you
With grace upon grace.

~Sandra McCracken

Grace Upon Grace

Void.

I have never in my life been void of emotion.

There is always plenty to go around.

But today, yesterday, these days, there have been long lengths of time where I am void of emotion.

Too much need of it. Too much pull. Too much to go through.

So I am void of emotion. Void of capacity of it. Void of need of it. Void of the ability of it. Void of dealing with it.

Just void of all and everything.

Void.

~~
It reminds me of the first few weeks of mom's death, of starring at walls. Of the capacity to do little, see little, care little. Just void.

The Finish Line.

I hope when I win the prize, my friends are all stretching across with me. I hope all of our legs are groping for the same pieces of gravel and tar and sending our strength together at the same speed. I hope I am crossing the finish line with all of my closest friends and am able to cheer together with these Great Cloud of Witness' as I cross to his glory. I hope I can stand and cheer and acknowledge with them this road and race, this perseverance of the saints, this sweat and toil, and know that we did it together and with each other. They are the runners that press me on, that carry the torches with me, that give and offer the deepness of need, the inward strength to propel us forward toward in the pursuit of the goal. I hope I cross it with them, and sweat and hug and tear at that finish line with love and relief and joy and perpetual knowledge that we have given and emptied it all for this finish line.