The Fullness of Fire & Trees

The fire came to sit beside the tree. The tree brave and hesitant leaned down to ask the fire what brought her to his side.  For the tree knew that fire was both good and bad, while the tree only knew good. The fire sat quiet for a moment. She peacefully gazed towards the setting sun in the winter sky. "Did you know, spoke the fire, that I am a part of the sun?"  Now for the tree this was difficult because he only knew the sun to be good. So the tree asked the fire, "How can you, knowing both good and bad, be apart of something that is only good?"  The little fire looked up at the tree, smiled and said.   "Sometimes I spark when I shouldn't and sometimes I burn too hot but the sun tells me I am more.  Though some may know me as both bad and good, the sun see's me in my fullness and calls me by a different name."  The tree waves his branches and leaned in closer to the fire.  With a grin across his face he said, "The sun calls you loved as the sun calls me."  The tree recognized the fire for the first time as himself and remembered that though we are all made different we all come from the same sun. And the sun has no favorites. The sun loves and restores all. 

Faith. A Question.

While heading out the door this morning to greet the day via thrift shops, I tuned in to my favorite Richard Rohr sermon.  It’s just over six minutes long and I have listened to it about eighteen times.  My temporal lobe wants to squeeze out every drop of truth like juice from ripened fruit.  It’s all so good; I may commit gluttony.  

The question Rohr asks over and over is,

“What are you for?  What is the thing that gets you up in the morning because that is your faith?”  

Rohr points out if he were to say something negative; talk about what he was against he would be able to gather a larger crowd.  He may even get applause.  Leaving me to wonder.  Why is that?

To be sincere; Its exhausting. 

Facebook.

News Stations.

Comment sections.

Radio Stations.

Twitter.

Etc….

The polarized media is difficult to face on a daily basis.  The worldly approach is cumbersome to navigate when you are trying to get though the eye of a needle.  Not to polarize my own point, there is good in social media, there is positive on the news and radio, but the question is what captures us?  What do we pluck from the tree of good and evil?  And what do we do with what we know? 

Is our faith directing us into difficult conversations or comfortable ones?

Is our faith telling us to love or label?

Is our faith raising us above others or putting us at each other’s feet?

Do we care more about what we are against and less about what we are for, and what does balance look like in this place?

More questions than answers for us meat bags. 

Find Me in Nothing

My hand moves some of my husbands thinning hair in circles between my fingers.  His head is lying face down on our bed and I am gazing into nothing.  He’s struggling and I’m struggling with what to say.

All my years spent growing into a spilt family with too many secrets has prepared me well to read people.  To know without knowing, to adapt, to appease, and to never speak what I know to those who needed to feel accomplished in deception. 

I know how to rescue; I am new at just sitting in the discomfort. 

While staring into the great nothing looming across the room, I feel the voice inside tell me to pray.  What I refer to as my spirit, what I believe to be the Holy Spirit, the part of God who hides away in me, the God who finds me in nothing.  I feel the words vibrate though out my body as if my very bones have become chimes of mercy and grace.  Though I hear their sweet music I am gripped with the unpleasant mocking feeling of anger.  My eyes, now directed towards heaven, shoot beams of stubborn “NOS!” 

My little insecure human self, said no. 

“Quickly now! Quickly!  Ignore the chimes!  Where are my ear plugs?!  I don’t want to do this, Please don’t make me do this!  This is mine!  Do you hear me Spirit in the sky?!  This is mine!”

My little insecure human self. 

Yet the music of mercy persists.  My battle cry of ego and pain hasn’t persuaded God to shut up and move on.  He simply stays.  Consistently playing soft hymns and waiting for me.  Waiting for little insecure human me. 

I close my eyes tightly and with the determined pain of a small child told God,

“If I give this, if I let him into our space, he will be here forever and I don’t want to.  I’m afraid.” 

The slow hum of God responded,

“Pray for him”. 

So in my fear I spoke that I wanted to pray.

With every quick breath I felt my heart pound.

Every nerve in my body ignited with anxiety. 

Then I spoke and the hum of my spirit poured out.

Passion came out of my little insecure human self.

And in my discomfort something larger than myself appeared.

A thought, a presence, a gift, some knowledge.

“Rest now sweet rescuer, you are no longer alone.”