The Sylvr Pen

He buttons his shirt-jacket bottom to top. I watch as he walks beneath this upstairs window, one boot forward, then the other, head down into wind, buttoning as he strides, securing himself against wild gusts.

He always buttons this way.

I think I should.

It lines things up from end goal as start. How often I go neck downward instead, only to see my ends don’t meet, and I must start again!

It’s like how to fast, I think. Start at the end goal, and work from there. Line up time and activity from priority to the rest…

And I did it! And I wasn’t even realizing…

~

A Saturday.

I’m not thinking “fasting” at all. I’m thinking free day, extra hours to spend with Him, alone with Him, soaking in the beauty of His holiness, listening closely to the words He speaks, has always spoken, letting the rest all go loose and away.

If only it would.

I settle early, very early, in upstairs study. It’s only half-past-four. I want to beat the day, beat the noisy rooster’s rousing…

But low roar of wind rolls all around, outside these windows, sometimes fading to pianissimo, sometimes making sudden crescendo, with whistles and clacks and bangs and clangings, and in between, low moaning and groaning. The moans haunt, the crescendos interrupt and intrude. And when the wind rattles windows, it rattles me, too.

And under all that muffling, the rooster, yes, already, crows his “hallelujahs!”

But I continue, just share my sensations and misgivings in my prayers…

Loud report of loose doorknob startles. Steps on wooden floor resound, rich baritone “Good morning” spears right through the meager door.

It is a grace, a gift, that hello, and I respond, and thank my God, and then try to continue…

Steps on stairs,  clatter of dishes just below (this farmhouse is cracked wood and creaky, with hollow walls and closet spaces that serve as megaphones).

Every plonk! of potato tidbit dropping into empty metal pot in empty metal sink (he boils these, to feed his chickens…), every opening and closing of doors, every clink of china in cupboards, they all dart up here to bid me hello like little children, in and out.

This is quite a noisy silence! And I’m an auditory person. Here’s the mode in which my distractions lurk, ready to spring surprise.

I consider leaving here to seat myself in a quieter spot. Bedroom floor, by my trusty “prayer window”? — where the draft within from wind without makes real breeze across wood boards? I stay put, hoping for activity to cease.

Steps on stairs. Knock on door, baritone drawling a slow announcement: Love has brought me coffee. And naturally I reply “come in” and how sweet this is and it is love and grace and calls for thanks, and the rooster’s crowing again outside this left-hand, wind-rocked window, and the gale is even shaking the house.

“But the LORD was not in the wind…”

And so the thank you’s, to man and God, and now I have coffee. But that’s not really what I want. I want silence, and well, yes… a fasting. Because I want “Closer!” to my God. And oh, do they make rooster muzzles?!

The minutes roll. The hours. And in them, quiet finally comes. Even wind and rooster settle, and God is near enough to feel, and all else drops away and it is good, so good, thank You, God. A feast! Feast on His word, and presence, His still small voice!

I glance later at a clock. Time has rolled now to 10:30! I do the math. Six hours since I rose! And I consider: all I had was a sip of coffee — in how many hours since food last night? and even now I’m not yet hungry, except for more of Him.

Is this not a fast? Buttoned bottom upward? And a satisfying fast.

*****

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Playdates with God

As the deer longs for streams of water, so my soul longs after You

My soul thirsts for God, the living God. When can I go and meet with God?

Psalm 42:1-2

~

THE ACHE

Desire of the ages,

sweet hunger of the prefall soul,

become unmet longing obscured by clamor,

driving forces of a busy world,

a fallen heart’s bent,

and, from its disease-wracked parts,

competing attractions,

till it lies buried beneath all their debris,

pushed aside as a extra to life,

if one has the time.

A hidden ache.

Within all, a vacuum crying desperate hunger.

And so to fill it,

try this and that, and something else,

and it never does quite satisfy,

there’s still the gnawing emptiness,

made vague by those distractions.

Clear the debris, dear Lord!

Sweep it away,

even if it costs me all those competing desires,

so I can see the famine inside,

and then look up,

and see the bread that fills it,

the only bread that fills it.

And stretch out hungry hands,

and partake.

And live.

And savor.

And satisfy.

And hunger yet more ever after,

but a sweeter hunger,

absent of the awful ache.

*****

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I  swallow and wince at rawness in my throat. Hours pass but it and swelling in neck glands don’t, so I stay home from church, and later Husband shares a sermon.

In it, smallish David faces huge Goliath. Then the message, near its end, jumps to Paul reminding those in Corinth how he formerly faced them: “not in excellence of speech or of wisdom… but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power…” but, also paradoxically, “in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling” (1 Cor 2:1-4).

Then the grace stuff of 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 binds weakness and victory tight together as Paul declares, “When I am weak, then I am strong” [in God’s power].

But what stood out for me was that word “trembling.”

Paul trembled!

I’d read that before, many times. So it didn’t shock me with its presence now. It just finally sank in! Paul himself says he was actually in fear, and much trembling.”

We don’t think of him much this way, do we? With Paul as with David, we imagine bold and forthright confidence. 

Did David tremble when he faced Goliath? Well may be.

These thoughts fortify my wimpy heart.

I tremble sometimes. I just said so in my last post, about true grit.

But all this tells me that doesn’t matter. It’s what you choose to do, because of, or in spite of, your trembling. She who does the bravery God commands, with knocking knees, by calling on Him for the resources sorely lacking in herself, exhibits greater strength, it seems, than he who feels powerful in himself. For “the weakness of God is stronger than men” (1 Cor 1:25), and His “strength is made perfect in [our] weakness” (2 Cor 12:9).

The sermon said something else, something I’d rather not hear: How God evidently prepared David for facing that giant, in earlier conflicts with lion and bear (1 Sa 17:36). Equipped him.

At this I wince. The all-pervading wimp within hopes this sermon isn’t equipping me for future battle. Because I know I’ll tremble.

*****

Doing Five Minute Friday with the prompt “Grit.”

Go!

At first all I can think of is that Vienna bread we bought that had something in it that screeched between your teeth and sent shivers up the spine.

But I finally think of “grit” as in strength of character, determination, pluck.

And I wonder if I have any. In myself.

So many times I’ve trembled at the brink of what God wanted me to do. Someone with more grit than I would dive right in and swim strong strokes. But I waver, plead with God, “I can’t!” and whine. Not grit, that.

But “I” have walked through (figurative) fires. I have faced opposition. I have stood firm on truth and righteousness. On occasion. Still trembling, or filled with an inexplicable peace that could only come from God.

Because it  wasn’t my power at work. I didn’t have any! It’s always been when I came to the utter end of myself that “I did” the greatest, most difficult things. Came to the end of myself and  cried out to Him to do His will in me that I couldn’t do. Then it happened: “His strength is made perfect in weakness.”

Maybe people-grit is like that in the bread. Not the kind we really want or ought to have, something that makes our presence known, but not in any way pleasant or useful. The huge power of the gentle Shepherd is entirely different from that, mighty to the tearing down of strongholds, holding forth truth people would rather not hear, but still burning with holiness and love.

Dear God, I count on your strength. Any grittiness I have is like that in the bread loaf. But yours is infinite, holy, and wholly able to do in and through me whatever you desire to have done.

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What went wrong with my fasting venture Tuesday? Honestly, it was all wrong from “Go!” But my gracious God blessed me with benefits from it anyway.

Mistake #1 – I didn’t seek God’s guidance first (by prayer, Bible reading, and waiting on God to ascertain His timing.) I assumed I was doing something good, responding to a writing prompt about a “spiritual discipline.”

Related Mistake #2 – I did it for the wrong reason. Though I said we shouldn’t fast just for the sake of fasting, I did, even though I tacked on vague hoped-for results. My fast matched none of the biblical examples of my last post.

Mistake #3 – It was all flesh, just the work of (wo)man, to be expected to fail. Flesh alone can’t do a spiritual discipline. I needed the Holy Spirit working in this.

Mistake #4 – I bit off too much at once. (Pardon the pun.) Husband advised, “Keep it small.” I thought I had. But not small enough. By mid-afternoon, I could feel my metabolism, and blood sugar, drop: sluggishness, brain fog, even a tad of dizziness.

Mistake #5 – “There’s a time to every purpose,” and this was not the best one. I’d just been accomplishing  healthier eating, not too much, not too little, and steadily dropping weight, benefiting body, mind, and spirit.  (And that effort had started with prayer and involved God’s help and my self-discipline). This disruption threw my metabolism and weight loss into reverse!

Also, though it freed up lunch hour for quietness with God, by 2 PM I was just spinning my spiritual wheels, and my day got less quality time with God, all totaled, than usual!

Still, God is good. Even when I mess, He blesses.

Benefit #1 – My empty belly reminded me of African brothers and sisters who, even apart from drastic famine times, often go through a season of one meal a day. Thus, an Isaiah 58 principle kicked in.

Benefit #2 – I became painfully aware of my impulse to head toward fridge or cupboard just because it was a particular time, or because I was passing through the kitchen, even though I wasn’t authentically hungry.

Benefit #3 – I gained all the wisdom listed above about how not to fast.

So, to fast or not to fast? Both. At the proper times, with the right motives, and empowered by God.

Meanwhile, I do best to concentrate on the “fast” of Colossians 2:18-23 (Hover cursor and read) — “holding FAST to the Head, from whom all the body, nourished and knit together… grows with the increase from God.”

There’s the most important “fast,” and the most important thing to do during any food fast.

*****

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Brag On God Friday

A Holy Experience