Like a Cello in the Hands of a Violinist

Nancy, a professional cellist, actually started out with violin when she was a girl. The violin teacher told Nancy’s parents, “She’s so intense. Why don’t you try her on a cello?”

I can be too intense, too “me,” too I-don’t-know-what. Just too much—like a cello in the hands of a violinist.

In my intensity, zeal, and even joy, I forget sensitivity. I forget others. Instead of selfish intensity, I want sensitive intensity. Life as one in the Body of Christ means I cannot, should not, be “all me.” I must be me with others in mind…yet somehow remain who I am.

It’s tricky, finding the right voice when I’m so intense. I think the trick is in two parts. I need to be:

1. selfless in intense suffering, and
2. sensitive in intense joy.

Selfless in Intense Suffering

While I try to untangle fears, while I weep in throat-tightening sorrow, while I linger in the trough of the wave, I still need to think of others. To be selfless.

I’d say it’s impossible, but David somehow pulled it off:

So David departed from there and escaped to the cave of Adullam; and when his brothers and all his father’s household heard of it, they went down there to him. And everyone who was in distress, and everyone who was in debt, and everyone who was discontented, gathered to him; and he became captain over them. Now there were about four hundred men with him. (1 Samuel 22:1-2)

David in Distress, Captain of the Downcast! In his own turmoil, he did not forget that others, too, were in distress, in debt, discontent. He was even able to lead and encourage them. Though David himself was in deep trouble, others were drawn to him—four hundred men!

When I suffer, I want and expect my friends to come to the rescue, to console, to minister to me, me, me. Selfish!

David’s tears did not blind him to others. In suffering, I can still be an encourager.

Father, help me to respond well to intense suffering—with selflessness and awareness of others.

Sensitive in Intense Joy

I’m trying to figure out how to be as intense as I am, yet not to the point of harming others. (Yes, I’ve done it before.) A good thing that becomes too strong, too intense, can be a burden or can damage. Several examples come to mind:

• A comforting campfire out of control wipes out the forest.
• A dash of salt is tasty, but a handful burns.
• A quick-fun tickle draws glee, but a pinned-down, prolonged tickle is disguised torture.
• A good cup of coffee, when too strong—um, strong coffee is…er… (Okay, so coffee’s a bad example.)

But I don’t want my joy to turn into someone else’s burden. Just as it’s easy to be so sad that I forget others, I can also be so joyful that my eyes, seeing only my own blessings, are blind to others whose cup does not (for the moment) overflow. I think of this:

A loud and cheerful greeting early in the morning will be taken as a curse!
(Proverbs 27:14 NLT)

An intensely joyful “morning person” celebrates the DAWN, yes, SIR! Let me share my explosive joy in this glorious 5:00 Saturday morning hour, woo-hoo!! Then, the neighbor who was up past midnight (visiting blogs) will count it a curse.

Of course, the matter could be more serious than wanting to sleep in. Others could be mourning, or in deep suffering. I rejoice with those who rejoice, but I also mourn with those who mourn.

The Proverbs 27:14 principle extends to other matters. I need sensitivity not only in intense joy, but in my charging zeal for good things—for things of God, for ministries, for the advancement of the Kingdom, for the building up of His church. For even in these things, I can be too pushy, too hasty, too impatient. Too intense. I should not lose my gentle touch on the need of the moment.

And then, there is a kind of rejoicing that can be intense in stillness:

There will be silence before Thee, and praise in Zion, O God (Psalm 65:1)

Father, let me have not the intensity that tramples, but the good zeal that remembers love.

This week Bonnie Gray encourages the community to share about the topic: Finding Your Voice. Click on the Faith Barista badge below to read more community posts on Finding Your Voice!

On Life’s Common Duties

Like a server at the five-star bistro
who presents on a tray the same gourmet
delights she has tasted (having access
to the kitchen),

and lately a little on the weary
side, I offer not my own words
but the better creations
of a master chef:

(All excerpts below are from Between Walden and the Whirlwind, also published under the title Finding Focus in a Whirlwind World, by Jean Fleming. It’s out of print, but if you can get your hands on it…)

The acid test of Christianity is not giving our life at the stake or in the lion’s den, but giving it little by little, day after day, moment by moment, a drop at a time, in the common duties of life assigned to us. . . .

It is not the job that determines its worth and impact, rather the heart of the person approaching and executing the task. No work in itself is spiritual or secular. Prayer can be secular if it is offered as a perfunctory exercise of form; sorting socks or changing the oil can become a sacrament when done with a pure heart surrendered to God. . . .

God gave unfathomable dignity to common labor when He made His only begotten Son a carpenter, not a king or a scholar. . . . God’s order is not to abolish the mundane and routine from the life of a Christian, but to transform it.

- Jean Fleming, Between Walden and the Whirlwind, pp. 99, 100

After the Falling

They say the glory of a tree
is in her leaves. Living green
and sap-swollen, leaves have branches
of their own. Summer glory flows
in their veins vibrant and heavy
with life.

And then comes the dark of the fall,
the dark coming too early, pressing
down and pressing out their glory,
glory in the leaves before their fall.

She knows the fall is coming;
she knows her glory will fall.
But pre-knowledge doesn’t soften
the heavy blow
of fallen leaves dropping
at her feet, dropping
on teary-dewed grass.

They will come back, they say,
It will grow back.
Small consolation for the tree
whose coming spring will bring a sap
intentionally deadly, a different sap
to flow into her veins, heavy
with death.

Looking out from its own trunk,
can the tree see? Can she see
the falling leaves leaving behind
another kind of beauty, a heavier
weight of glory?

This week Bonnie Gray encourages the community to share their Fall Reflections. As I just made a hair donation to be used for a child’s wig—a child who lost hair due to chemotherapy—I’ve been praying for the child who would end up wearing the wig made with my hair. I’ve been trying to put myself in her (his?) place, and this is the poem that came out.

Click on the Faith Barista badge below to read more community posts on Fall Reflections!

Poetry Oxide

Poetry oxidation won’t do
in a vacuum, but the way
it oxidizes depends
which side I’m on.

If I’m the reader,
it’s the copper turning
gemstone-green, increasing
in value and beauty,
more greatly admired
for its longevity,
unweakened by time,
anticipated like time-
honored statues, valued
like revered domes of
well-planned classic
architecture.

But if I’m the writer,
it’s the rusty nail insidious
and hidden in blades
of tall grass. It may
or may not be there,
so I scare myself back
into rubber-soled shoes
so I won’t get lockjaw.
Yet there’s nothing
like lush grass under toes,
so I look up
old records and find
my tetanus shots up to date,
and again I dare
walk barefoot.

***

For the combination photography and poetry prompts on “rust.” (My photos will eventually go up on my flickr account.)

Two Aromas

Some people are attractive, like magnets—Carol Mayberry, Tom Eklund, Jean Fleming, Jay Cline. If they threw a party, everyone would want an invitation. People look for them in a crowded room and hope for a chance to shake hands or say hello. Sometimes, even, when they walk into a room, people actually burst into a cheer.

But these four go beyond “magnetic personality.” They attract others to Christ. They live a life that results in others wanting to be closer to Jesus.

I want that. I want it bad.

I told my husband about it. “Some people are so attractive—I mean, they are magnetic people that attract others to Christ. You know, like Carol. I want to be like that.”

Charles nodded.

“Because of that, I’ve been meditating on something I came across in Proverbs.” I told him the verses:

Let lovingkindness and truth never leave you.
Bind them around your neck.
Write them on the tablet of your hearts.
Then you will have good repute
with God and men.
(Proverbs 3:3-4)

I kept thinking out loud. “So it seems like lovingkindness and truth would help me get better at drawing people to Jesus.”

Charles gave a thoughtful pause. “Those are good verses,” he said, “but I don’t think they’re about the attractiveness you’re talking about. There’s a difference between having a good reputation and having that magnetism for Christ.”

Ah.

I thought, then, of those verses about being a fragrant aroma. I made a mental note, a little to-do item: Copy those “aroma” verses and meditate on them.

I never got around to it. (That’s why mental notes are inferior to written ones.)

But God got me around to it.

Five months later, my Bible reading plan took me to Second Corinthians—the “aroma” verses.

But thanks be to God, who always leads us in His triumph in Christ, and manifests through us the sweet aroma of the knowledge of Him in every place. For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing; to the one an aroma from death to death, to the other an aroma from life to life.
(2 Corinthians 2:14-16)

I used to think being a sweet fragrance for Christ meant directing that fragrance to others—living so that people will like me, even if that meant conforming my personality to theirs. I have to listen to the music they like! I have to go to the mall if they like shopping! I have to be like Tom!

But my direction was all wrong. Being a sweet aroma does not mean being a people-pleaser. “We are a fragrance of Christ to God . . .”

I read the whole thing again. There are two aromas. I drew pictures of them in my journal.

One aroma is the knowledge of Christ. This aroma is from God, through me, to others.

The Knowledge-of-Christ Aroma:

The other aroma is me (“we are a fragrance of Christ”). This aroma is from me, to God, in the presence of others.

The Aroma of Me:

The knowledge-of-Christ aroma IS directed to others. But the aroma of ME is to be Godward.

I am to be a God-pleaser.

I shouldn’t worry about how people perceive the aroma of me, whether they think my life-fragrance is a sweetness or a stench. I shouldn’t adjust my life according to what people think (which seems awfully similar to fad-conforming peer pressure), but according to what God thinks.

If I want that magnetic-personality, attractive-fragrance that draws people to Christ, the point is not to please them but to please God. Then of course, though the aroma is Godward, the people around me will pick up the scent.

Father, keep reminding me that my fragrance is to You and for You. Please use me to spread the knowledge of Christ to those around me.

This Wednesday Ann Voskamp hosts a community of those who share about “The Practice of Faith.” Click on the Holy Experience badge below to read more posts on Faith!

Also linking with Bonnie Gray for Thursday’s Faith Barista Jam on Faith and Friendship. Click on the Faith Barista badge below to read more community posts!

The “Where”

I need to find the right place.

They said to Him, “Rabbi (which translated means Teacher), where are You staying?”

He said to them,

“Come, and you will see.”

(John 1:38-39)

Where.

Colorado. The grocery store. Academy Boulevard. Under a tree.
Behind me. Out the door. Two hundred miles away.
Bethlehem. Nazareth. Golgotha.
These are places. Where.

We live in frames, our bones covered in muscle, blood, flesh, sensitive nerve endings. We walk, touching the skin of our soles to the earth. We know the feel of cutting wind, warm embraces, rough bark, pain from a bruise. We are physical beings, made from the dust, and so our places are physical locations.

But there are places . . . and there are places. Our “where” is not always the same as Jesus’s “where.”

So they were saying to Him, “Where is Your Father?”

Jesus answered, “You know neither Me nor My Father; if you knew Me, you would know My Father also.” (John 8:19)

They ask where, but he answers with know. For Jesus, the “where” is being with the Father. It is knowing Him. Knowing God is a place.

Tell me, Jesus, where are You going?
Show me the place where You’ll be.
“Come, you’ll see,” is all that You answer.
To know You is all that I need.

Where do I want to be?
Knowing Jesus.

This Wednesday Ann Voskamp hosts a community of those who share about “The Practice of Faith.” Click on the Holy Experience badge below to read more posts on Faith!

Also linking with Bonnie Gray for Thursday’s Faith Barista Jam. Bonnie asks, “What season of faith are you walking through? Fall (letting go) – Winter (loss/waiting) – Spring (new starts) – Summer (embrace and celebrate)? My faith season is Fall; I am letting go of wanting to know all the answers, and instead walking with Jesus where He is, where He has me right now, and seeing with the Partial Vision He has given thus far. Click on the Faith Barista badge below to read more community posts on seasons of faith!

Poem on Poem

If each one is poiema, a masterpiece,
then poetry is poem on poem,
the community,
the Author’s entire Body
of work,
a living anthology.

***

(For T.S. Poetry‘s focus for September: “What is poetry?”)

(This poem is abridged from the original, posted here.)