The Shadow of Your Wings

I’ve been thinking about how we are perceived by others. I mean, when I read the words of various writers on this site or in books I start to get a “feel” about the “who” of them. Even those missives that aren’t really personal in nature reveal the personality of the author. Sometimes I even dare to think that I actually “know” them.

I have been so blessed by the comments left on this page by folks who only “know” me through these scribblings. Such kind and encouraging compliments. I thank you all. But I’ve been thinking about the poor, dear people who know me in “real” life. The ones who know that when I stub my toe “owwie” is probably not the first word to escape my lips. Or those who’ve patiently listened to me rant or whine when someone has hurt my feelings or made me angry and know that the thought to pray for them often comes after I’ve overcome the urge to “lay hands on” them. What do those folks think? Knowing me as they do, are they still able to recognize me in the writing? And, of greater importance, knowing me as they do are they still able to recognize Christ in my living?

Writing comes easily to me and has always been my preferred method of communication. It allows me to express my thoughts and feelings most honestly, most thoroughly, without the distraction of interjections or interruptions. It is the one, the only, thing over which I have complete control. I can easily strike a line that doesn’t say exactly what I intend, or take the extra moment to look up the perfect word to describe the situation. When I write I am free to be me.

Or at least that’s my perception.

How then does that translate to the everydayness of living? How do I unveil my heart to reveal the glory of Christ in me to those who must suffer through the tedium of “real life” with me. Do the four and five letter words of Christianity - love, life, grace, peace - pervade my speech as freely as they do the script? Or am I better known for the other phrases that grunt and grumble up my sentences? When someone sees me do they see Jesus? Do they hear the still, sure voice of the Spirit over the noise of my words? Does the way people perceive me distort their perception of the truth and beauty of Christ? God forbid.

I, like many of you, have been told for years that I should “write a book.” Truth is, I have neither the interest nor the energy to tackle such an endeavor - publishers, editors, writes and rewrites; no thanks. Besides, I can barely keep my thoughts focused for the length of a letter, much less a whole book!

I do keep journals. Have a box full of them that I’ve scribbled off and on for decades tucked away in a closet. Reading them is a lot like riding a huge roller coaster as they chronicle my ups, my downs, my loopity loops. I’ve always had it in my mind that there would come a day when they would be handed over to the children, preferably posthumously. (One of my daughters asked me recently, after she’d pored through these posts, when they would get to read the “personal” stuff - to which I replied, “After the last ‘Amen.’”) The journals are the real stuff - raw, edgy, sometimes angry, often pain-filled. “Personal.” But there are things written there that I could share with my kids (and friends) now - things that might help them know God, or even me. That’s why I started “blogging.”

While I was still mulling the thought of going “public” I read my sister’s post in which she shared an observation about blogs and the writers. Having read more than a few prior to beginning her own “gratefulblog,” she found that “some want a place to vent their complaints (a mad diary, if you will), some are to spotlight their brilliance/creativity/cleverness, some are to extol their wit in describing oddities around them, some are just honest revelations of life experiences.” I don’t think that she did any reading in this particular site or she would have surely included “some prophets, some evangelists, and some pastors and teachers,”.

I knew, when I finally decided to try this “business” out for myself, which of these I would be. As I read the “writes” posted on this site it is always curious to me to find which of the “some” you are, and to realize that we really do tend to fall into at least one of these categories. (Now, of course, you will read each offering with the same curiosity. Perhaps you will even discover how your writing reflects one of these “types.”)

Whatever our reason for blogging we have each chosen to post here, on a site dedicated to the glory of Christ Jesus. Whether we just need a place to “vent,” to express our creativity or wit, or an opportunity to share honest revelation, our hearts and writing should always be to honor Christ, and in Him, others. We, by grace, are of the “some.”

But to each one of us grace was given according to the measure of Christ’s gift. … And He Himself gave some to be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, and some pastors and teachers, for the equipping of the saints for the work of ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ, till we all come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to a perfect man, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ; … from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by what every joint supplies, according to the effective working by which every part does its share, causes growth of the body for the edifying of itself in love.” Ephesians 4:7,11-13,16 NKJ

As others come to this site I pray that they will find us extolling the Lord Jesus, working effectively to equip and edify one another in love, in unity, and in His grace.

Write on, beloved!

I’ve been staring at the picture on my desktop that I took several years ago in Arkansas. It’s a photograph of Christ of the Ozarks - a monolithic statue, created of white mortar, that stands atop a mountain on the grounds of the Passion Play outside of Eureka Springs. We’ve made the trek up that mountain many times over the years, once to see the play, but always to see “Jesus.” This summer we will be taking two of our teen-aged granddaughters with us on the pilgrimage. I’m so excited. I want them to see Jesus.

The sculpture itself is rather crude (which is to say it‘s no David.) Reminds me of something I carved out of soapstone in high school art class. Huge, simple, surreal. But there is a holy hush about the thing, the place … as if you can hear the muted whispers of a million prayers rustling through the pines. Peace abides there, on that mountain, where Christ is lifted high, His gaze overlooking the city below, His arms open wide. There is a sense of welcome, a call to “Come unto Me.”