a treasure (of inestimable worth)

"To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved."

George MacDonald

fallen

like the great knights, i too have fallen.
the traps set before me
and the snares meant for me
by the enemy's plotting hand
led me to madness
and his devious schemes.
self condemnation is its own demise
but what is on the other side
is not the expected harsh blow;
it is the face of mercy,
the voice of forgiveness
and kisses of grace.

the test

your tricks may have worked
in days of old;
this time
they could not stand.
what stayed purity
and held virtue?

ah, that mystery is hidden,
not to be unlocked
or awakened
until its time has come.

the old is past
and new things are nigh.
and what holds
the truest merit
is not in the corporeal
or sensation.

it is in the one who
holds the key and
guards the mystery.
and this altruistic
watchman
ardently waits
to release it
to one
and one alone.

in progress....

walking on water

Madeleine L'Engle 1918-2007

i just found out my favorite children's author, an inspirational artist and lover of the Word and the written word, passed away on thursday. this woman was tenacious and brave and persevering, bold and brash, willing to say things and do things and write things most christians flinch at. She had to persevere through resubmission and resubmission and rejection after rejection before her most noted work was published. Wrinkle was banned by many conservative Christians when it first came out. and she wrote books for children she knew would be too complicated for adults-- someone who understood 'childlike faith'.

i read all of her books as an adult and they truly challenged me. they asked me to step out of the concrete, the rational, the evident, and see a world beyond. she mixed science and fantasy, the literal and the figurative worlds. every challenge met in the other realms brought wisdom and application to reality of everyday. meg and vicky and polly all asked me to look at God with new eyes, to see him and know him beyond the temporal, beyond my cultural goggles, beyond my narrow world view. they also, though young teenagers, taught me to love, to appreciate men in a pure light.

when i first arrived back in austin, texas, i raided every half price bookstore seeking my Madeleine collection. my top shelf is a shrine now! one book really challenged me, one she wrote on art and faith called, Walking on Water. it touched me deeply. for years i had squashed my "artist" because i didn't know how it fit in with my heart's call to serve the King of Kings; and she challenged me to do what intuitively i knew. i had to create. and it is worship to the Almighty to do so!

somewhere buried in my files in a letter to Madeleine i never sent. i wish i would have and i wish i could have met her. she wasn't perfect; she was human. but she was honest. i am so glad for that. i hope i can merit just an ounce of her forthrightness. thank you, God, for Madeleine. the world will miss her, but she must be walking on water seeing your face. and i leave you with a little something from her wit and wisdom...

Children are often better believers than we are. A young friend of mine who works in a day-care center one day overheard a little boy say, "I want to die," and he meant it. She swept him into her lap to try and find out what was wrong that he should feel and say such a thing ... Everything was wrong. His parents were drinking, fighting, screaming, throwing furniture. His anguish at the violence at home had focused into a terror that someone was going to come take him away in the night. My young friend said to him, "I'm going to fix that for you. I'm going to send four guardian angels, one to stand at each corner of your bed. They will spread their wings around you, and you will be enclosed in their love, and no one will be able to take you away."
The next morning when he came to the day-care center she hurried to him, asking, "How did it go last night?"
He responded very seriously, "I think we can cut down on the angel guard. One will be enough. The flapping of their wings kept me awake."

refuge

the wearied warrior lay his heavy armor down for a moment of relief;he had fought with stalwart tenacity and had the bruises to prove it. there was a blanket of brush hiding him for this one fleeting breath of calm. the relentless enemy sought him night after night in the places where he had hoped to find sanctuary and peace. he knew the battle was not over yet. for this sacred momentary sigh in the lapse of fire gave room to reflection of strategies and schemes, mistakes and corrections, and a great awareness of thirst and pain. he foresaw the battles to come and started up preparing to grasp the hilt of his sword. exhaustion held him back though he was determined to stand and fight. just as he regained strength and prepared to defy this foolish foe, he was struck in his right shoulder by a toxic blade. darkness cloaked the hero.

the assailants congratulated themselves for their cunning mastery of such a man as this; and they left him for his own madness. the wound throbbed and his heart felt despair tinged with sadness; the warrior fell into a foggy stupor.

he wasn't aware of the length of time that had elapsed but as he regained consciousness, he heard the sweet fluent sound of an unadulterated voice. the cantor sang ballads of healing melodies, and he responded to the lyrical hymns awakening new harmony. autumn leaves fell about his head caressing his brow. everything was quiet though a light breeze moved the air with joy and clarity. the warrior sat up to find his wounds mended and his armor beside him. he walked forward, his feet cushioned with every step on the thick grass; further on he found a stream and bathed his face in its crisp water. as he journeyed into this sacred space, the light grew brighter and the songs grew louder. this was the safety, the shelter, the strong tower he had sought day after day. the warrior respired a great sigh; his heart's heaviness could be left here though he still clung to the grief of battle lost. the cantor's voice could be heard again with greater force and poignant energy. the song captured doubt and ensnared sorrow as it penetrated the hero's senses. the battle was not lost. the battle is not over. and victory is guaranteed.

...till I entered the sanctuary of God;
then I understood their final destiny.

intuitive

intuition speaks volumes these days
but the concrete voices caution

where do i ground my feet
where do i place trust

concrete is the sole of the civilized
though blinded eyes cannot see
what is beyond the outer walls of the microcosm
past the manipulated boundary
created to bring pseudo order
to an otherwise perplexing mystery

it exists whether it is acknowledged or not, with or without rational thought (especially without).

cognition without interference

it cannot be denied. but how far can it be trusted? am i intuitive or just plain crazy? verdict?

one word (times 7)

safe. peaceful. grateful.

contending still.

waiting patiently.

of philosophers and poets

Eliot, I am trying to wrap my mind around you and we are not in unity quite yet. I have great respect and admiration for you but I also desire understanding. I want to be reconciled to you. Will there be time? Will there be time before the taking of a toast and tea? Do I dare disturb the universe? It is impossible to say just what I mean! I formed a loose acquaintance, or rather an awareness of you five years ago through one who was well acquainted with you. Give me Shakespeare any day; but, you, sir... you are the philosopher. And I think it wise we know each other.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow.

I will attempt to know you and hope for a friendship with you. But until your human voice wakes me, I shall drown... myself in Dostoevsky. Please, no more shadows.