February is drawing to a close, but for most of the country the days are still too short and the nights far too long. Each morning, the sun makes a feeble attempt to peek through the clouds only to quickly scurry back again, leaving cold and frost to overtake the evenings once more. A heavy blanket of snow covers the ground, and though I know spring is right around the corner, the never-ending chill in my hands and feet tell a different story.
I caught glimpses of my reflection in the intermittent light as it cycled between illumination and shadow in the large windows of the train car. My reflection stared back listlessly, with a face displaying a mix of anxiety and excitement. Beyond those emotions, I was staring at a face I knew well, but one with which I hadn't really ever connected—or even accepted as my own.
what shall I compare you to?
A mountain stream, running through snows of ivory?
A water lily, waving in a pond of tinted green?
A wild doe, dancing in a meadow of spring?
A proud mare, racing through African deserts of gold?
shadows of reality,
Tibetan snows tell of your purity.
Ocean depths reveal your richness.
“And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.” 1 John 4:16
Webster’s online dictionary lists a plethora of definitions for love but all revolve around the central concept of feeling a great affection for someone or something and to take great pleasure in that thing.
I don’t remember last week – at least not in any significant detail. It is not because I was abducted, nor is it because I suffer from any kind of medical condition that affects my memory. I have come to the conclusion that life simply gets full, and to allow myself to be able to function, often times I go on autopilot. Autopilot is scary. I remember one night when I was in my late teens.
They had been married for 47 years, raised two boys and two girls, and seven grandchildren. High school sweethearts, married at age 20, and now, all those years of love, family and life had come down to this: she was in a Critical Care Unit with cancer. Nearly unconscious except for the slow, painful moans that forced their escape from her parted lips, she sought relief from her body’s agony. Cancer, like an evil spirit, was speedily consuming her from the inside out. Her name was Josephine. Only days before, though sick, they believed she had more time.
I wonder if it was dusty at the well where Jesus met the Samaritan woman. I would like it if it was. The woman came to the well for water. Water washes dust away. Jesus asked her for water. To ask for anything is to admit that one needs something from someone else. Jesus, it seems, makes it a point to put himself in her debt. She points out to him how far out of the norm it was for a Jew to submit himself to
What do we mean when we say “the way of the world?” I suspect that each of us, if we were to examine what we mean by this word, would come up with a different kind of definition. My anecdotal observation is that both I and my fellow Christians seem to have one thing in common when it comes to how we interpret this word, namely that the idea of “the world” seems shrouded in some sense of other. In simpler terms, I’ve found that if a person does not believe one should listen to rock music then it is from the world that such music comes. If a person believes that when o