Song of Solomon 8:4b
Life as a "young woman" often feels alot like watching someone paint a mural. You stand back, arms crossed in front of your chest, and you observe as the Master Painter and Designer fills in the white spaces of your existence. During childhood He paints things like "learning how to read," "playtime," and "naps" into the picture. A few years later you watch as He adds things like "school," "mischief," and "slumber parties" to the mix. Over time your colors start to blend together, and the beginnings of a true work of art can be seen. But then, in the midst of the work, something catches your eye. In the top corner of the mural of your life you notice a white space-- a glaringly empty white space. Troubled, you approach the painting and begin to inspect the area. Then, with a look of confusion, you turn to the Artist. "Lord, why isn't anything there yet?" you ask. He keeps painting. You keep looking at the white space. "Lord, over here!" you say. "Wouldn't it be fun to paint this part?" He keeps working, unmoved. The white space glares more than ever, and you begin to get upset. "Lord, I would really like it if you could start painting some of this," you say. He doesn't seem to hear you. You try a different approach. "Lord, please?" Still no response. You turn back to the mural, hiding the look of disappointment on your face. Why won't He get rid of this? you wonder. Doesn't He hear me? Surely He wouldn't ignore me, would He? After all, doesn't He want me to be happy? Day after day the Artist works on your mural, but He never once lifts His paintbrush to the top corner-- not even anywhere close to it. And you stop asking Him to. Instead you stare at your own emptiness, each day feeling more and more frustrated. More and more angry. More and more cheated. More and more alone. Your eyes fix on the top corner until they can't blur anymore. Then, with tears welling up and with a heart that hurts, you cry out, demanding an answer from the Artist. "Lord, can't you see all of this white space?" Slowly, deliberately, He keeps on painting.
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
Monday, April 26, 2004
Humans love to label things and it's so lame. We label the things we eat, we label the things we read, we lavel the things we use. Worst of all we label each other. Ironically, we do this to gain a more simply and easy understanding of what "kind" of human someone may be. But a human is not a jar of peanut butter, nor a particular "type" of vehicle. A human being is a complex unit made of many different thoughts and influences, capable of being perceived in infinite ways."
Sunday, April 4, 2004
"I looked for that which is not, nor can be, and hope deferred made my heart sick in truth: but years must pass before a hope of youth is resigned utterly. I watched and waited with a steadfast will: and though the object seemed to flee away that i so longed for, ever day by day I watched and waited still. Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more; my expectation wearies and shall cease; I will resign it now and be at peace: yet never gave it o'er. Sometimes I said: it is an empty name I long for; to a name why should i give the peace of all the days I have to live? --yet gave it all the same. Alas, thou foolish one! alike unfit for healthy joy and salutary pain: thou knowest the chase useless, and again turnest to follow it." -Christina Rossetti