My grandchildren (clockwise from upside down Bryson, Callie, Eli, Joel, Allison)
The other day I was watching a movie in which spies were talking to other spies on their cell phones. I got tickled for the thousandth time about the way people like that, as well as policemen and the military, use their own gussied-up language (usually pointlessly elongated) to say mundane things. The one I noticed that day was "I don't have a visual on him," meaning simply, "I can't see him." I decided it might be funny if I started talking like that and made a mental note to use that terminology soon in some everyday conversation with some unwitting friend or family member. Tuck that away for a minute.
I have been doing a lot of pointed praying the last couple of weeks. Been talking really honestly with God about some of the things I am confused and concerned about. The confusion and concern has lasted longer than I am comfortable with since, as a Christian, I have been graced with such gifts as the indwelling of the Holy Spirit and loaded with such benefits as being the daughter of the King of the Universe, the one and only Almighty and omnipotent God! Thus, lately I have been asking Him some specific open-ended questions to which I have hoped He wouldn't mind giving me some specific and definite answers. Mindful of James 1:6-8 , I made a point of telling Him that I would have my eyeballs and earballs open especially wide in an effort to be ready for His answers. I 'd like to share with you how all that has gone... how, as one spy might say to another, I have been afforded wonderful "visuals" on God at work. (I have also decided that, like the spies and the Army, my sightings are too significant, too ethereal, to be spoken of in any words as mundane as "I have seen Him." No, I have definitely been getting "visuals" of God as He has faithfully answered some of my very pointed prayers lately.)
My first pointed request was in the form of a poem inspired in part by a couple of scriptures: "The Lord will give grace and glory; no good thing will He withhold from them that walk uprightly" (Psalm 84:11).
"Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me" (Psalm 51:10-11).
Now that I'm nearing fifty-nine,
I desperately need this heart of mine
To be taken afresh into your hands,
To be molded anew to fit your plans.
Oh, the clay there seems so hard and dry-
I am moved so little; I never cry!
I know you don't want a heartless head.
I'm starving for tenderness; I need to be fed.
True sympathy and empathy I'll need to impart,
So I need to be moved way down deep in my heart.
I desire to feel, but I'm as dry as husk.
My healing will come from no less than your touch.
So won't you please rain on this dry heart of mine?
For I've miles to travel; I'm just fifty-nine!
I desperately need this heart of mine
To be taken afresh into your hands,
To be molded anew to fit your plans.
Oh, the clay there seems so hard and dry-
I am moved so little; I never cry!
I know you don't want a heartless head.
I'm starving for tenderness; I need to be fed.
True sympathy and empathy I'll need to impart,
So I need to be moved way down deep in my heart.
I desire to feel, but I'm as dry as husk.
My healing will come from no less than your touch.
So won't you please rain on this dry heart of mine?
For I've miles to travel; I'm just fifty-nine!
I said these words were "in part" inspired by those scriptures, but they were brought on, too, by a long time of trying to figure out if something is wrong with my insides. Once a person given to demonstrative emotions, this older me is calmer, much less demonstrative, especially concerning sadness, sympathy, empathy, loss. My abiding joy is deeper than ever, and my laughter, excitement and energy are intact, but the output of tears has lessened dramatically. I am surrounded by friends whose tears flow freely, whether they want them to or not, so I have felt a sense of loneliness as mine have dried, and my heart has steadied. What's wrong? Why have I changed so? Does it show in other places in my life? Am I dead? Some have answered emphatically, "NO! This is a blessing, Jan, not a curse! Give thanks to God and don't get distracted about this." But I needed to hear God say this, so eventually, after stewing and re-stewing, I presented my case to Him in this poem. I asked Him to make known to me if He was displeased with me, if I had become hardened out of some sin I had, from years of neglect, just somehow normalized. I felt like a dark cloud that desperately needed to rain but couldn't. Was my heart providentially calmed in these storms or was it dried up prematurely by prevailing ill winds?
And then my six year-old granddaughter, Callie, came for a week. We frolicked and snuggled, went fishing, deer-watching and frog-catching. Then...she left. Suddenly, I couldn't squeeze her, drink her in with my eyes, and bathe my ears in her delightful little voice and laughter. She was gone, and the memories were so fresh. Achingly fresh. I woke up wanting to find her beside me, but nothing of her remained but a little black teddy bear and dozens of sticky notes with her writing in every color. My heart was rent with longing.
When she had left we had picked up her little brother, Eli, and since he is two, I had to shake off my melancholy, perk up, and be on full alert. Again a bond was formed. For a week, this little guy captivated me with his unique language-- few spoken words but a whole lot of intense gazing into my eyes with earnest earnest entreaties to complete the communication that his words left lacking. And the way he would blissfully fall asleep on my chest with little provocation flooded me with Nana tenderness.
And then, just like his sister, he went back home to his parents. Again I walked around a little lost in the silence of my very orderly house, and listened fruitlessly for "Nina," his unique name for me. Once again, I fell deeply into feeling a kind of loneliness that was almost palpable. Then it hit me: I was getting a visual on God! He had heard my cry and had shown up to give me His answer. He had opened a curtain to let me see and feel a heart that still pumped with appropriate emotion.
My visual on God has given me a better visual on myself. The poem might have bled out a little bleakly onto the paper, but I'll bet if I continued it (maybe I will!), it would have concluded on a different note, much like many of David's who started out in the dark talking about God in third person and then somewhere in the middle having gotten "a visual on God," ended up praising Him in first person. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside the still waters, He restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and your staff, they comfort me." Psalm 23:1-4.
I have learned at least two lessons from my very pointed prayer:
1. It could be when we undergo a huge change that makes us feel almost like a stranger to ourselves that this is an answer to a long-time prayer request upon which we might have unconsciously lost hope. ( i.e. Yes, for most of my life I was too agonizingly emotional!) Thank you, God, for the rescue from that; I'm so sorry for calling the blessing a curse. My friends were right!
2. Maybe God is saying to us modern day psalmists, as He was to the old-timey ones, that how visual He is to us depends upon how auditory we are to Him.
And then my six year-old granddaughter, Callie, came for a week. We frolicked and snuggled, went fishing, deer-watching and frog-catching. Then...she left. Suddenly, I couldn't squeeze her, drink her in with my eyes, and bathe my ears in her delightful little voice and laughter. She was gone, and the memories were so fresh. Achingly fresh. I woke up wanting to find her beside me, but nothing of her remained but a little black teddy bear and dozens of sticky notes with her writing in every color. My heart was rent with longing.
When she had left we had picked up her little brother, Eli, and since he is two, I had to shake off my melancholy, perk up, and be on full alert. Again a bond was formed. For a week, this little guy captivated me with his unique language-- few spoken words but a whole lot of intense gazing into my eyes with earnest earnest entreaties to complete the communication that his words left lacking. And the way he would blissfully fall asleep on my chest with little provocation flooded me with Nana tenderness.
And then, just like his sister, he went back home to his parents. Again I walked around a little lost in the silence of my very orderly house, and listened fruitlessly for "Nina," his unique name for me. Once again, I fell deeply into feeling a kind of loneliness that was almost palpable. Then it hit me: I was getting a visual on God! He had heard my cry and had shown up to give me His answer. He had opened a curtain to let me see and feel a heart that still pumped with appropriate emotion.
My visual on God has given me a better visual on myself. The poem might have bled out a little bleakly onto the paper, but I'll bet if I continued it (maybe I will!), it would have concluded on a different note, much like many of David's who started out in the dark talking about God in third person and then somewhere in the middle having gotten "a visual on God," ended up praising Him in first person. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside the still waters, He restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and your staff, they comfort me." Psalm 23:1-4.
I have learned at least two lessons from my very pointed prayer:
1. It could be when we undergo a huge change that makes us feel almost like a stranger to ourselves that this is an answer to a long-time prayer request upon which we might have unconsciously lost hope. ( i.e. Yes, for most of my life I was too agonizingly emotional!) Thank you, God, for the rescue from that; I'm so sorry for calling the blessing a curse. My friends were right!
2. Maybe God is saying to us modern day psalmists, as He was to the old-timey ones, that how visual He is to us depends upon how auditory we are to Him.
