Stars

The park I use for my morning time with Abba is flooded. Nothing alarming, the park is designed to flood when water is released from upstream dams in anticipation of heavy run-off from the rains we've had recently. Its annoying though because I have to find somewhere else to have quiet time.

I've found a spot that is barely suitable, its too close to Interstate 5 but it will do. Yesterday morning I was facing easward as the night sky gradually gave way to grey. At this time of year the sun does not peek over the Sierras until I am at work but day lightens the early morning sky. In trying to block out the noisy traffic I looked up and noticed the quarter moon with Venus nearby. I always find those two so close together something beautiful and yesterday was no exception.

It reminded me of something I wrote two years ago this past summer while camping alone in those Sierra mountains. I wonder how easily we get distracted from seeing the obvious things about us. Anyway, here is what I wrote a couple of years ago.

Stars
Saturday night I slept outside. While sitting with Abba the suggestion came. When I was a kid I slept outside all summer long. I'd move every week or so on our property, back porch, back yard, up by the pool; it was one of the joys of my childhood. I'd been re-visiting some of these years so when I remembered that joy, I though "Why not"? Whether the idea came from me or Abba, I'm not sure but I'm leaning towards Father, there was something in it for my heart. Anyway, my last glimpse before sleep overtook me was stars. I had a fairly unencumbered view of the sky towards the south and west with only a few tall night-darkened trees standing sentinel.

Stars. My mind had wandered around on them off and on that evening. They amaze me. I know a little astronomy - how to find the north star off the two outer stars of the big dipper's cup and if you follow the arc of the handle you come to Arcturus then down to Bootes. I can find a few zodiac signs and of course Orion and the Seven Sisters in the winter sky. That night I noticed one star that I could only see if I didn't look at it directly. This is more a function of my eyes, I have a small blind spot at my focal point, but the disappearing star amused me.

I then began to realize how little I do know about the night sky. Am I familiar enough with it that I would notice if anything was different? Apparently I am not alone in this complacency, this assumption that there are stars overhead. Some 2000 years ago only a handful of wisemen noticed something different in the sky. They understood the steadiness and rhythms well enough to know something was different. This difference compelled them to follow it. They knew it was a sign of something apparently missed by everyone else. There was no angelic appearance telling them "Go, follow the star". They simply knew something was wonderfully amiss. Have you ever wondered why they didn't pick up anyone along the way? I am sure others noticed the star but it must have been nothing but a minor curiosity in their normal day-to-day lives.

Paul tells us in Romans that nature speaks of the character of God. The wise men were familiar enough with the night sky to know something was different. Do I know the nature of God well enough to know when something new about Him has been revealed, a new "star" so to speak? Or do I let the blind spot in my eye get in the way and miss it?

Refugee

This has been a tough season for me. On Friday December 3rd my mother fell in her kitchen. She didn't tell us of the fall until the next day when she called to say she was not going to be able to make it to our production of A Christmas Carol. She said she'd fallen but was okay, just in a lot of pain.

After two trips to the ER and two stays in the hospital, Mom was diagnosed with compression fractures of her vertebrae and a fractured elbow. She eventually ended up in a nearby convalescent home. Yesterday she had some kind of emotional break down and ended up in ER again. She's back at the convalescent home today but confused, not doing well. A refugee in a place she does not want to be.

My relationship with Mom has never been an easy one; none of her three children have simple, easy relations with her. I stand by her hospital bed, a child, a man and an outsider all at once, like someone observing a difficult story but it is my story. The end is still unknown for my 87 year old mother but I am sad to see her in this state. In spite of all that has flowed between us in my 57 years of life, I grieve to see her as she is, a refugee of sorts forced into exile in a hospital bed.

I've thought about this state of being a refugee and see that I too am a refugee of sorts, perhaps all of us are. We wait and long for a true home. Part of what we celebrate this 24th of December is God coming to make a way for us to finally go home. It is a wonder, a beautiful thing that we can, by faith, enter into.

I spent time today reading my favorite Christmas story, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson. It's a short children's story that is a wonderful, very funny read that I highly recommend. The horrible Herdman's have taken over the annual Christmas pageant and give it new life from it's usual predictable flow. In the midst of the pageant, Imogene and Ralph, the two oldest who are playing Mary and Joseph enter in a bit late. The narrator says, "I guess we would have gone on humming till we all turned blue, but we didn't have to. Ralph and Imogene were there all right, only for once they didn't come through the door pushing each other out of the way. They just stood there for a minute as if they weren't sure they were in the right place-because of the candles, I guess, and the church being full of people. They looked like the people you see on the six o'clock news - refugees, sent to wait in some strange ugly place, with all their boxes and sacks around them. It suddenly occurred to me that this was just the way it must have been for the real Holy Family, stuck away in a barn by people who didn't much care what happened to them."

Incarnation doesn't necessarily mean He became a refugee but there is something in this about the sacrifice in just coming for us. It was no small thing. As this day and evening unfolds, I want to remember His coming was to give us hope, light, life..... HOME. Refugees no longer.

ROOM REVISITED

I come again to the idea of "room". Sometimes it is a function of time, making the time and place by intention. Sometimes though, it is coming to Him in the emptiness of our hands, free of any other encumbrances. There is room because we are bankrupt with little to offer but our brokenness. My hands are free to reach because I've got nothing in them. I've dropped the things I want to cling to the most. Clinging to my own agendas and ideas makes for a very hard life and leaves little room. There is that word again, ROOM.

I am thinking I don't need to "make room" but rather recognize the room already exists if I stop trying to fill it up with my own efforts, ideas and agendas. Today, for me to say, "Yes" to the question involves intentionally letting space exist in my heart and my soul. Sometimes that seems and feels difficult, emptiness craves a filling. Am I willing to live with that hunger for a while and let the "room" created by not filling myself up with less worthy lovers stay un-sated? In this season of excesses and, at times, melancholy, this requires intention. Not striving but intention to let Him in the hunger and be satisfied as He wants to satisfy.

Having room for Him is not always as comforting and comfortable as we might think.

Room

Sitting in church this past Sunday I was struck by a phrase we sang, "O come to my heart Lord Jesus, there is room in my heart for you." I've learned to pay attention when something in me stirs, even from familiar phrases. This phrase has not let go and it is two days later. Room in my heart for You. Room.

As I write, it is four days before Christmas and I can't let go of this phrase. Room. Really, is there room? The past several months have been busy. I was Scrooge in a production of Dickens' Christmas Carol and I took chunks of my picnic table time memorizing dialog. I am now almost three weeks past the production and I am having trouble finding the rythme of my very early mornings. I think that is why this phrase has stuck with me. Room.

All too easy I sang that phrase Sunday but now He won't let it pass easily. I've noticed He's asking me a question. "Is there really room for me?" It is not an easy question if I am to be honest with the One who loves me so deeply. How can I not be honest with Him? So, I take a deep breath and answer in the quietness of my own heart, unspoken words that ring clearly in His ears, "No." I've let things crowd in and I need to do something about that.

Again though, I am reminded that I need to simply turn to Him, settle in and let Him speak. This is a relationship, not a process. There is an ebb and flow to knowing Him. At the heart of this is the reason Jesus came. The path is blazed through Him into Father's throneroom. Light and Life are offered, not as a transaction bought by my good intentions but as simple and vital as breathing.

Take a breath. Let it settle deeply inside you and push away all the distractions of this season that keep you from simply being with Him. Make a bit of room and say, "Yes, there is room in my heart for you."

Title

It was January of 2005 when I hit a wall. I couldn't go any farther and I needed help. I prayed and asked God for help. I'd done this before, innumerable times but on that day nearly 6 years ago something happened, something shifted.

I spent the next few weeks each morning in my holybluemazdapickup parked in the ugly parking lot at work spending some time with God, mostly crying because I needed Him so badly but I was afraid this wasn't going to last. First it was time in Psalms, then I added some time in a devotional book. The time grew, I started getting to work earlier and earlier but something was missing, something in the way of geography. The stark, ugly parking lot was not doing much for my heart and this spiritual oasis God was giving me.

I remembered there was a park that straddles the American River as it empties into the Sacramento river. I moved my time of oasis to the park and found a nice picnic table or two I began to use. That was almost six years ago. My time is spent reading, writing in my journal and praying. More on that later but what I write here comes from those times. Off The Picnic Table. Hopefully when I get better at navigating this place I will get a picture of my picnic table and post it.

I have several friends that have encouraged me to do this. I don't know where this is leading and I have no idea if anyone will read whatever I write here. If you wander in and read, I hope something here blesses you and draws you closer to the one who loves us deeper than we can imagine.

To my friends who have encouraged me to do this for several years, you know who you are. Thank you for walking with me and being patient.

Surefooted