Take Courage

"Be strong and courageous...  Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed, for the Lord God, even my God is with you.  He will not leave you or forsake you."  1 Chronicles 28:20

Healing tide waves through past memories, looking back to my childhood in a rural Kansas town.  The blond girl growing up, knowing not myself, groping through my childhood and adolescent identity crisis, always chasing for something to fill my empty soul.  I felt shy and awkward, unsure exactly where I fit into life's mosaic of blended color, and I looked up to my beautiful, bold, and courageous sister.  I sometimes longed to be my sister-- outgoing, strong, and always knowing exactly what to say.  My sister had the courage to hold up her fifteen-year-old sister when I was falling apart. Though these events scarred our relationship with painful memories, we learned that love is hard and its bond is deeper than these scars.   In 1993, I wrote this poem for my sister for the courage I sought and the wounds we secretly shared.

My Temple of Courage

I.

I was like a tiny rosebud-- fragile and weak.

No one could get too close to me and touch my soul.

Bitter thorns cut into the flesh of those who held me close.

You were like a patient child, nourishing me every day, 

But never touched.

One day, I blossomed into a beautiful red rose.

I showed my soul!

And you hold my pale bitter hands forevermore.

II.

I was like a delicate china music box.

It seemed as though I would crush at a touch.

So my own mother held me safely

In a china cabinet with a limited view of the world,

So I would not break.

What she did not know was that I had  inner strength.

I would not play a single tune, fearing that

I would reveal my internal fissures.

You were like a beautiful bronze statue--

Strong and admired by all.

Mother placed you on the piano where 

You saw the world.

One evening, you were awakened by

A melancholy tune.

You gazed at me, whom couldn't keep

My song in any longer.

A slight crack appeared on my perfect ivory surface.

You held me together--the scars 

Would eventually disappear.

And you hold my fragile soul together, forevermore.

III.

I was like a child in a chaotic maze of broken dreams.

I did not believe in anyone or anything.

I could not find prayer; I had lost faith.

Late one night, a small white light of hope appeared.

And with it I prayed.

You were like a great temple of courage.

As an answer to my prayer, you came to me.

You held me up and restored my faith.

You helped me find a better path for my long journey.

I leaned on you for a while, until I could hold my own.

With a fresh start, I continued my journey;

And you hold my spiritual faith, forevermore.

IV.

As an adult, you have continued to be

A temple of courage that others have leaned on.

You have stood tall and strong through

Many rough times.

Your strength has touched many lives,

I admire you for that.

You are the best sister anyone could hope for.

And you hold hopes together, forevermore.

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."  Psalm 139:13-14

After having My Temple of Courage published in the Topeka Capitol Journal, I framed the poem and gave it to my older sister for Christmas.  Twenty years later, my teenage daughter read the same poem for a middle school forensics performance.  Looking back, I now see how some of the terminology in this poem was more fitting to my relationship with God Who is my true "Temple of Courage", and I probably would not have chosen "Temple of Courage" as an analogy for my relationship with my sister.   As an adult, I identify myself as a child of God and see more clearly that courage comes in many different forms.  Courage to love unconditionally.  Courage to tell the truth.  Courage to face the past.  Courage to be who God called me to be.  God creates us in His image, making us each unique and lovely in His sight and calling us to fight the good fight and thrive through the tribulations that make us strong.   

 Although we've had our share of differences, I love my older sister very much.  I appreciate and admire her as a wonderful mother, teacher, and role model.  I will always be grateful her courage to hold my hand and stand by my side when I was sinking into an adolescent crisis.  Relationships are complicated, especially those that share painful memories, but God is the redeemer of all things and for that I find courage and hope.  

"Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage!" Psalm 27:14a

The Ghosts of a Winter Melody

"You keep track of all my sorrows.  You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book."  Psalm 56:8

Memories unfold, unlocking old wounds that fade but never fully heal in the recesses of the heart.  Like snowy landscapes covering secrets beneath the murky earth, visions shackled to the attic of consciousness.  Looking back to the winter day long ago holding captive a fifteen-year-old girl with flaxen hair and blue-gray eyes.  She was shadowed by memory monsters stuffed under her bed and shouldered by adolescent uncertainties.  The children's voices that mocked her, naming her "ugly" and "stupid"--cruel words calling her to fade into the cracks.  The sound of the voices that haunted her, pressing into her, and breaking her spirit down.  The pills she took to drown out their taunting cries.  The sister who brought her into the bathroom, begging her to vomit the pain that she swallowed to pierce the edge of her soul.  And she wrote this poem that screamed for redemption from the razor's edge of these regrets.

Sightings

It was January when the hoary beard of slumber 

concealed the earth.

Crystals danced like nymphs on the weathered

Limbs of maples,

And I locked myself in the attic to seek my creeds

Through shattered cracks.

It was January when the other children dusted

Snow angels in their rosy forms.

Their ruby lips savored the succulent icicles

Hanging from my windowsill,

And with blanched fingers, I counted dead roses;

Their needle edges piercing fissures into 

My porcelain palms.

It was January when delicate flurries melted at 

The feet of time.

The people shared their fireside fantasies

Over a cup of soothing cocoa,

And I left my solitude to drape my life 

Over the skeleton arms of the cemetery willow.

"The Lord is near the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."  Psalm 34:18

On a winter's night more than 25 years ago, her soul was crushed yet not abandoned by the Lord's hands that lifted her up by drawing her into His gentle embrace that kept her alive by His willful grace.  A year later, at age 16, she wrote these words in the winter passages of her weathered journal:

Passages

Snow will once again flutter at me feet,

It's difficult to believe that year has passed

Since I last cried for my soul,

My long golden cap protects me.

It hides my shivering ghosts of the past.

No one shall know the truth.

As the wind hisses and

Claws at my hair,

I rush through time.

It's clock thumps in my solemn heart.

I can hardly keep up...

“Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?"  Psalm 42:5a

The shattered voices followed her into adulthood as she stuffed her sorrows and tucked them away, holding everyone else at bay.  She would not let them in to see the frozen winter gales that robbed her virtue.  Bitterness for the pieces of her life that died with each cutting word and each wrong choice she made.  Turning to the elusive by avoiding the light, she clung to the kaleidoscope hopes that cried out to her for redemption, but she was blinded by these fragments.

Fragments

Broken fragments have fallen before my mangled feet

Like shattered shards of ice scattered upon

The tattered earth on a lost January morning.

I gaze upon these fragments, desolate and alone.

All I can see is icicles;

Gray icicles that fuse into my own gray eyes

In these abstract reflections consuming my life.

My body twisted and contorted in Picasso formations.

I yearn wistfully to feel real and complete again.

Like a child does in the gentle flames of bronze security.

All I can do is lay upon my glacial bed in 

Agonizing meditation.

Could my own security have been this dilapidated quilt

Of faceless images, of uncertain convictions?

Fervently, I attempt to warm my severed form with its security,

But my legs stretch beyond these boundaries of cotton.

Their soft jagged edges will not conform to my size.

I could regress to fetal position,

But that is like a hermit's first breath of the sun--

She could never smother herself with darkness again.

I need to focus on what is real,

But all I can see are these obscure reflections

A circus of dancing images, kaleidoscope dreams.

"But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed."  Isaiah 53:5

Freedom sought her out more than two decades after that January day because the God Man held steadfast to her severed soul.  He loved fiercely when she turned her back from His redemption promises and chose the stubborn way. Eventually, He called His beloved prodigal daughter back into His arms of grace. Like the chasing the ghosts of a winter melody, she escaped her past and stepped through the refrain of pierced dreams.  The waves of sorrow sheltered beneath the surface of her facade.  But God in His measure of fresh mercies would draw her into His redemption plan and tear through her being with the molding of His sanctification stone turned to clay.  Burned and baked, she cried for sorrow seeking wholeness to expose the winter ghosts.   Healed by wounds of the Man Who was mocked, beaten, and torn apart.  He bled for her lost heart and wept for her crushed spirit.    Her freedom emerged in stages of grace and forgiveness, chasing the monsters and ghosts away, and releasing the voices taunting her childhood grief.  She offered them up to the bleeding hands and feet that were scarred, bruised, and torn for love and peace.   She could finally rest easy in His tender embrace. Downcast soul lifted out for joy and sweet love for  grace.  The miracle birth for promises whole and complete.  And winter was redeemed into spring...

"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."  Revelation 21:4-5 

Depth for Beauty

Words elevate beauty!  Ever since my parents gave me my first journal 28 years ago for my 13th birthday, I have been compelled to write and haven't stopped since.  I am inspired by the exquisite process of forming words that come to me like the rising tide to create something profound and beautiful.  I'm delighted to explore the greater depths of unearthing the unexpected treasures found in the seemingly mundane of everyday abundance.  It is time to unveil these precious gifts, some of which are both glorious and heartbreaking. Let's get started with excerpts from some of my favorite musings on the depth of beauty and the transforming power of gratitude.

DEPTH FOR BEAUTY REDEFINED

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him."  1 Corinthians 2:9

The world's definition of beauty is fleeting, a chasing of the wind that is here today and blown away tomorrow like chaff.  Depth for Beauty in the eyes of the Lord opens up to the resurrection power of His steadfast love that contradicts human nature.  Redefined beauty marks the transformation of the ordinary and seemingly insignificant which has been deemed lovely in the eyes of a Creator Who "notices when a sparrow falls" and Who has "clothed the lilies of the field with splendor." (Matthew 1:29; Luke 12:27)  Beauty is found in the memory of a grandmother's gentle touch, a mother's unconditional love, and a father's unwavering commitment to provide for his family.  There is indescribable beauty of new life as a fragile helpless baby enters the world for the first time, seeking nourishment from its parental flesh--a miracle that only a mother can truly comprehend.  I find beauty in the glint of a child's eyes, belly laughs, new discoveries, and the growing pains of parenthood.

There is also beauty in the tragic aspects of life.  I feel both joy and sadness looking back at my time spent on the memory care unit delighting in the warm touch of soft wrinkled hands and the discovery of souls emerging through fragmented memories and glimpses of the past.   I have experienced heartbreaking painful beauty at the end of life.  A few years ago, I sat in the hospital room, holding my friend's hand and praying for the soul I was not ready to release to eternity.   I'll never forget the moment she heard my name and opened her eyes wide--distant eyes that reflected the kingdom glory just around the corner.  Beauty also emerged in the moment I feared my own life was slipping away.  One afternoon I was asleep in bed, my body afflicted with piercing pain and profound weakness. I opened my eyes to find my husband kneeling over me begging God for my healing.  There was tender beauty in his daily sacrifices for my welfare and his steadfast love for me.  All these things have been painfully beautiful; a paradox in the making when eternity transcends worldly beauty and nothing is the same ever again.

REDUCED FOR BEAUTY OUT OF THE ASHES

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."  Romans 8:18

 I have been reduced for beauty out of the ashes of my own affliction.  When the largeness of life was pulling me along by an all-consuming current, I found myself drowning and there seemed to be no way out. With a word from the Lord, my course was altered, and I found myself crushed by the weight of malady.  In my Job days, I was enveloped in darkness, confined by the four corners of my bed.  Disease ravaging my body, and my mind frenzied with fear. My spirit was pleading with prayers that seemed lost in the dead echoes of silence.   The enemy of my soul seemingly had the upper hand, but he underestimated the power of the Great I Am.  The God of heaven had a bigger plan incomprehensible.  I was undone.  I was reduced in my body, my life, and my spirit. I identified with Job as he lamented, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return.  The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”(Job 1:21)

By depth for beauty, I was brought down low, condensed to nothingness, and in losing myself, I unearthed the unexpected.  It gradually immersed into my being with small adjustments to my spirit.  My life was transformed for the making and choosing of the divine.  My eyes were opened, unveiling new truth.  With one excruciating step at a time, I discovered the conduit to supernatural trust while enduring uncertainty and disease.  Then, one day I found my fears and anxieties dispersed by the “grace that is sufficient and power made perfect in my weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).  My life was smaller, and I was overwhelmed with awe for the vastness of my God Who transformed my ugliness into beauty and my sorrows into gratitude.  

 How did I not see it before these afflictions?  All the loveliness around me. The small things that count.  Beauty for the sunshine and a breath of breeze. Delight for grasping small hands and feet.  Beauty for simple everyday things.  Miniature butterflies sunning themselves on glossy stems.  Goldfinches nibbling on profuse sunflower blooms.    The cool crisp taste of cucumber on my tongue. Sunset reflections on windowpanes in a glorious blaze.  The sweet tinkle of piano melodies on rainy days.  So many things for beauty and blessing to count.   All these acts of worship that offer glory to our Creator.  I uncovered gratitude for my smallest joys and for His abundance.   All this pain and beauty, and I was left with the gift of gratitude in its truest form. The gift of grace.  An abundance of blessings to count for glory.  Joy for the moment.  The resurrecting power of “peace that surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).  My life was condensed and my vision modified for the gift and the blessing, beauty emerging from the ashes! 

SANCTIFIED BY BEAUTY TRANSFORMED

"Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes.  Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight."  1 Peter 3:3-4

Clichés like "beauty is only skin deep" and "beauty is in the eye of the beholder"  do not mean much as long as we look to the world to define it.  I spent too much of my life yearning to look and feel beautiful while falling short in comparison to the world's deceiving images.  When God enters the picture, everything changes and beauty is transformed into His likeness.   God's excruciating sanctification of my character has carried me through on the wings of His fresh mercies, and I am marked for His glory.   Here is a list of reflections I penciled in my journal a few years ago describing God's transforming beauty in my sanctification:

• I am here on earth for a temporary assignment and my real home is in eternity
• I will be rewarded in heaven for my suffering
• God has created me the way I am for His purpose
•  When I degrade myself, compare myself to others, or wish I could change who I am, I am rejecting His beautiful creation
• Christ conquered death on the cross, therefore I no longer need to be afraid of death
• I need not worry about what others think of me because Christ, my defender, redeems all things
• God tends to use weakness and things of minimal worldly value for His kingdom so He must have something magnificent in store for me
• Thanksgiving and gratitude are the ultimate gifts I can give back to God
• Praise releases incredible power 
• Everything, both good and bad, is for God's purpose and will bring Him glory  

 There is boundless freedom in viewing the valleys of life through the eternity lens.  God is our magnificent hope and His truth diminishes the world's facade of beauty in exposing His everlasting splendor.  Like the ethereal monarch emerging from its tomb of sorrow, our delicate beauty emerges from Christ's redeeming grace and everything else pales in comparison to His eternal majesty.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time.  He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end."  Ecclesiastes 3:11