Better Than You Think

Better Than You Think

(“Restore all that was hers, together with all the revenue of the fields from the day that she left the land until now.” 2 Kings 8:6b)

Afternoon. The tunes were irresistible, the
thoughts coming sooner than expected. She
had learned how little changes when change is
all you want. Afternoon.

Midnight. The candles were extinguished,
the dreams came thinner than desired. She
went to bed later but was too weary to distinguish
reality and visions. All she wanted was a winter
moon to lure her to slumber. Midnight.

Morning. The warming was unreliable, the
thoughts from the night came swarming. She
had placed an order for peace. All she desired was
a space within where it could all begin. But storming
had taken her best thoughts hostage. Morning.

Annual. And ten times over the trip around the sun
tripped her up again. She prayed, she groaned, she
wrote it factual and substandard. There was nothing
left to do
that she hadn’t
done before. The shore kept receding from the sea.
Annually.

Infinite. And it all feels like it will never end. It was
once all innocence and expectations. Now it is
cold nights and restless days. Her mind stayed
ever vigilant while she wished for contentment.
Infinite.

Invitation. There was one place, one pleasant conversation,
that made a few moments easier. Together was a road
walked late in the day with nothing to say but
you
are
better
than
you
think. They always met at the same location.
Invitation.

Torrents of Rain

Torrents of Rain

(“O Lord, restore our well-being, just as the streams in the arid south are replenished.” Psalm 126:3)

Don’t let the fantasy of uneasy paragraphs
persuade you that the everything is glued,
everything is static,
everything is anti-motion. The stars are
moving away from us a trillion miles away.

Don’t let the certainty of ambiguity convince you
the rains are gone. Don’t let the clouds on the horizon
obscure the coming day. Lighter than the mountains,
denser that the sun,
invited by petition,
stretched like the ocean’s horizon,
hold the hope that yesterday’s promises bring.

The fog burned off quicker than I guessed,
the light, though slanted late summer,
reached my porch before the evening fell.
We examined every exposed corner where
the light bent to reveal life hidden behind the
outcroppings of doubt.

The wadis were waiting, the dried riverbed
asleep and dry. The pilgrims plod the
unkempt desert floor; the preachers are not
certain, though they have set a new date for
the end of the world. Do they every stop their
silly prophecies once the storms do not gather
like the have pontificated? Do they admit the harm
their proclamations have done?

There is a rainy season; there is a time when
water will fill the desert again. It does not come
from ego-saturation, it does not arrive because
someone painted sign with the exact date and time.
You can no more command the rain than you can
tie the wind with a half-hitch, tethering it to the mountains.

There is a season for ease; there is a gracious month
when the Spirit will fill the waiting again. She comes
when least expected; she fills the imagination; she washes
the religious dust away. You can no more command the
Spirit than you can turn the earth with your hands.

As a matter of fact, there is far more water to quench
your soul
than all the suns in the universe. Watch the desert
late evening silhouette. Let the peace that pursues the
thirsty make an oasis of your tear-dried tongues. No need
to ration anything. It is time to share the overflow
that comes from the joyous music of torrents of rain
we thought would never arrive.

The View of the River

The View of the River From Here

(“For I will restore their fortunes and will have mercy upon them.” Jeremiah 33:26b)

I’ve heard the excuses that sentence a man to
eternal consequences for a single mortal life.
I’ve seen your silly dramas you
tag
as Heaven’s Gates
and
Hell’s Flames.
I am weary.

Believe me,
I have sinned with the best.
I have hidden it even better.
I have wished my follow was better than my
swallowing every temptation that insisted that
sundown was the best time for finding the one thing
that would slow down my mind.

I packed my suitcase for heaven
but
could never tell whether the vacancy sign
was designed to invite me to a dinner by the pool.
I will not be consigned to hell
no matter
how loud your fist-pounding pronouncements.
I have seen the other side of the sunset
and the day follows plain as the love that
explains it all in oil paintings on the wall.

Fashion another runway, leave your granite slates
outside the gates and
greet the canvas that was painted on a day when
everything had melted, a day when
we were all shocked about
the grace of it all.

The same day you scared the children half-mad
with your fiery hell,
the people on the periphery were starving for
breakfast. But the children gathered at the
front of the stage
nonetheless,
frightened about the heaven they might miss.

As soon as the morning peeks through the window
I will show you
the view of the river from the top of the hill.

Smile on Us

Smile on Us

“O God, restore us! Smile on us! Then we will be delivered!” Psalm 80:3

Whose smile are you missing today? Perhaps the brightness of a loved one who passed away? Perhaps a friend, still living, whom you have not seen for far too long? My mother had one of the biggest smiles in the world. It helped, I suppose, that her mouth spread across half her face. And, when she smiled…she smiled full throttle. Her eyes would sparkle, the corners of her mouth stretching nearly ear to ear revealed her teeth in unabashed display. If you caught her in one of those moments, you knew the world was right again.

Perhaps the reason my mother’s smile meant so much is that, as her child, I longed for her approval. You rarely needed to ask her what she was feeling; it was written across her face. All of us want esteem and support from the important people in our lives.

There are times when our hearts wane in our love for Christ. In one sense, that is to be expected. We are humans with normal emotions that can rise and fall with the events of the day or the current chemical makeup in our brains. But, when a long season sets in where we are complacent in our longings for Him, we need to pray as the Psalmist does here.

“O God, restore us!” There is an admission here that, left to ourselves, we would continue in the doldrums. The Psalmist does not say, “Here I come…running back to you,” as good as that impulse would be. He recognizes the need for the inner spark that only God Himself can provide.

Don’t misunderstand this. If you need someone’s help to ignite a burn pile, for instance, you don’t call on them to help, and then drench your pile of branches with water just before your friend arrives. You put yourself in the best position possible to respond to their promised help.

So it is when our interests in God’s good gift in Christ has waned. We do well to cry out, “Restore me!” But then we must awaken our own lagging passions. Even the slightest movement back toward God is received from Him as love itself. The Prodigal Son, after spending all his father’s inheritance on selfish pleasures, finally decides to go back home because he can at least get a good meal there.

We cannot judge how pure the son’s confession was. But, we do know that when the father saw his son coming up the driveway he rushed from the front porch and hugged him close, before the son ever confessed a thing.

God doesn’t want us cringing when we grow spiritually drowsy. Even if our life with Him has become completely lazy, His greatest desire is to welcome us back our home with Him. That is why the Psalmist asks for God’s smile.

When we are distant from Him life becomes frightening and full of danger in our minds. We pray, “How long will you remain angry at your people while they pray to you?” (verse 4) When we are not assured of God’s love and protection, then every difficulty seems like evidence that He no longer cares. When we should see His smile, we see His frown.

In some ways it may be true that God withdraws from us at times when we are in the doldrums. But, if He does, it is only to allow our hearts to long for Him anew. He is not punishing, but He is letting us know the hollowness of life without experiencing His constant presence. If His momentary “absence” causes us to arise and ask for Him to restore us again, then we delight in the reunion with our Beloved.

Don’t be afraid to acknowledge a bit of spiritual slumber. The disciples fell asleep at Jesus’ darkest hour, right? You’re in good company. Jesus asked them, “Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray that you won’t be tested.” Get up, ask Him to restore you and seek His smile again.

The Psalmist knew the Lord was his only hope for being “delivered”. Believe me, I know the forces that can keep us from taking the first simple spiritual restoration. Chronic pain is a barrier that can dull not only physical and emotional senses, but spiritual ones as well. I have learned (or am learning) the necessity of the constant cry, “O God, restore me!” That is one prayer He always answers.

Find His smile again. Do what you did when you first knew His love. Begin again, you will find Him as gracious as ever. You will find Him strong enough to bear your weakness.