I have been waking late lately, not used to finding light and heat upon opening my eyes my body seems to be disoriented with the late morning radiance. I feel as if I have been missing something important, forgetfulness constantly pouncing on my thoughts, something always out of reach but what it is I can't seem to grasp. Is my mind getting foggier just when my world is getting brighter? I have had to make quite a few big decisions lately...where to place the girls in school, finding a job close to their school. I feel I'm overlooking something important, something significant. My body is finally wanting to sleep and I often wonder if it wants to wake up at all. I try to will myself to wakefulness, setting several alarms, not covering the birds so they'll sing the sunrise to life, yet my body does not hear, every night sinking so deep in sleep that it doesn't even dream. Long gone are the sleepless nights now replaced by groggy mornings and slow long days. My energy is low, my body feels like it's walking under water and my mind cannot grasp the sunshine above the surface.
Music has awaken my heart. Jazz music no less, this is a new awakening for me. When I could not hear anything but the deep longing of my heart, the hush whispers of a long ago life, now all I want to hear is the trumpet sound of Chris Botti and the mellow deep voice of Diane Krall. Jazz is new to me, I didn't know poetry and music could blend together such sounds as to squeeze my heart so tight that tears fall unnoticed. Amaris took me to a concert and the music surprised me, I didn't expect my hearing to be restored under the moonlit night of an amphitheater. We two sat close together eating fruit, bread and cheese, when the first melody hit my heart, deeply peeling away the scabs of loss and silence. My body froze in amazement and I let the music do its work, it was painfully good, I laid my head on the blanket and looked at the stars and the bats darting to and fro as if in tune with the haphazard melody coming from the piano. Then I realized that my life has been like the jazz music I was listening to, darting here and there and settling no where but dancing to a melody I could not yet hear. I was happy when it ended and could not sleep for hours. Unable to explain the glow that accompanied my heart or the music that was still echoing in my mind. When I came home the music was here waiting, in the car as I went to work, in the house as I made dinner for the girls, but what was more surprising was that it lulled me to sleep the deep sleep of satisfaction, contentment, and perhaps a little forgetfulness.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Friday, July 6, 2007
Slow Transformation
Soon very soon my morning will dawn. I have seen light in the distance of my future and the sky is less dark, less lonely, less frightful. I pray that He soon opens the flood gates of His glory in my life. That God is "glory" or "excellence" beyond our understanding none can deny. But does my heart look up to Him every day in humble, earnest worship and know the truth and speak the truth "Thou art my glory"? Not as often as it should. My safety and that of my children lies in the fact that He possesses me. My deepest, holiest joy comes only when I humbly say in the hour of my secret worship, "Thou art mine."
These past few weeks He has been transforming me. He is restoring my sight, my understanding of who I am and who I belong to. For so long I saw myself thru Ron's eyes. He found me beautiful, attractive and often told me so, in the secret hour of love, in the quiet nights when he tenderly held me in love and passion, I would see it in his eyes, I could hear in his quiet voice, I could feel it in the way he gently touched me. Now that he's gone, I no longer see what he saw. Before me stands a woman far older than 42, whose hands are rough and wrinkled, hands that have lived far more years than I. Hands that have held life as well as death, that are familiar with the warm smooth skin of a just born baby and the cold steel of scrap metal salvaged from a bomb site. My hands feel ancient, wiser, cold and tired, not quite comfortable with the body they are attached to, contemptuous of the younger me. I am beginning to understand them. My hands hold the vastness of my past, the history of my construct, their lines reveal all the lives that I have lived and the lives that yet await. They continue to be lifted high in adoration, in glad surrender, in praise as well as in pain. How much more can they hold? I am slowly finding them beautiful, not because they are but because of all they hold. And as I begin to see beauty in the most worn parts of me, I see beauty in the rest of me. My face is trusting, perhaps sadness and grief has soften the lines on my face making me safe for others to open up and share. Perhaps I will never see what Ron saw, for the mirror that he was for me is broken, what I'm beginning to see is what He sees, and He too whispers sweetly, in the secret hour of intimate prayer, in the way He gently touches my heart that I am beautiful.
These past few weeks He has been transforming me. He is restoring my sight, my understanding of who I am and who I belong to. For so long I saw myself thru Ron's eyes. He found me beautiful, attractive and often told me so, in the secret hour of love, in the quiet nights when he tenderly held me in love and passion, I would see it in his eyes, I could hear in his quiet voice, I could feel it in the way he gently touched me. Now that he's gone, I no longer see what he saw. Before me stands a woman far older than 42, whose hands are rough and wrinkled, hands that have lived far more years than I. Hands that have held life as well as death, that are familiar with the warm smooth skin of a just born baby and the cold steel of scrap metal salvaged from a bomb site. My hands feel ancient, wiser, cold and tired, not quite comfortable with the body they are attached to, contemptuous of the younger me. I am beginning to understand them. My hands hold the vastness of my past, the history of my construct, their lines reveal all the lives that I have lived and the lives that yet await. They continue to be lifted high in adoration, in glad surrender, in praise as well as in pain. How much more can they hold? I am slowly finding them beautiful, not because they are but because of all they hold. And as I begin to see beauty in the most worn parts of me, I see beauty in the rest of me. My face is trusting, perhaps sadness and grief has soften the lines on my face making me safe for others to open up and share. Perhaps I will never see what Ron saw, for the mirror that he was for me is broken, what I'm beginning to see is what He sees, and He too whispers sweetly, in the secret hour of intimate prayer, in the way He gently touches my heart that I am beautiful.
Letter From Camp
Letter to 14 year old Elizabeth
My Dearest Elizabeth,
I will start by simply saying that this may not be the kind of letter your mom had in mind when she asked me to write to you and encourage you in your walk and maturity with God. In this season in my life I’m not the motivational Christian older woman…I’m afraid churches wouldn’t ask me to come and speak at their women’s retreats for every thing I have to say is laced with tears. As I write this tears are falling on my already weathered face.
My heart is heavy dear child and your mom may not want you to read this until you are ready to understand this pilgrimage we are all on. It is not an easy road Elizabeth. The Word tells me that His burden is light and His yoke is easy. Well, I’m here to tell you it’s not true. You may think that I’m contradicting the infallible Word of God but I’m not. He doesn’t promise an easy road, free from pain and grief, in fact He does promise that we are called to partake in His suffering. This road may be easier and lighter than the road of the world, the deprived, unsaved world, maybe, for I do remember that even David asked God how the wicked prosper. I have asked those same questions and He tells me that the rain falls on the wicked as well as the righteous. But I think a little less rain falls on some of us. Few are called to walk in the desert and because the road we travel is deprived of water when we come upon a small puddle it seems like an oasis. I don’t begin to know how He decides who will walk in the land of plenty and who will walk in this arid dry harsh environment. But I have been chosen for such a road. Friends have told me what a privilege it is to be chosen to partake in His suffering and that I should rejoice that I could understand better the words of Paul, for he too suffered much. That may be all good and true but the reality of the hurting heart is that it sucks! I don’t want to suffer; I don’t want to walk this way. I want my feet to point to the lush green valleys of life. Yet here I sit broken, hurting, submitting to His will and purpose for me and I have a responsibility to keep on walking in this harsh dry land.
The last time I had thirst quenching water was a lifetime ago and it didn’t come from a puddle, but from a deep, cool pool and I was able not only to dip my hand for a drink but to cool my body as well. The memory of such luxury is all but faded now and all that remains is what I tell my heart to be true. He is aware of my thirst and pain, but my troubled soul cannot comprehend such truth. I can see how Thomas felt, if only my faith was greater and my flesh would not war with my heart. I know God’s hand is in all…
In all nature,
In all circumstances,
In all my past,
In all my present,
In all my future.
I find myself rethinking and recalling memories of the past and wondering about moments to come and the miles that I have yet to tread, and I lose heart and feel tired and burdened.
Elizabeth I have lived and loved and given birth and put to rest flesh of my flesh, my three year old daughter Naomi. I have also laid to rest next to her small body the body of my husband of 22 years, of the man whose life pointed to Christ, who loved me like Christ loves the church, who un-raped me, whose gentleness tamed my wild heart and my bitter soul. The only man I have ever loved, whose love was so near to the love I have for Christ.
I sit here alone and broken telling myself “Not as I will, but as Thou wilt…”even in my sorrow…”not what I but what Thou.” This shall hallow my hopes, this shall hush my fears, this shall ward off disquiet, this shall calm all my anxieties, this shall soothe my heart-aches, this shall give rest to my weariness and when my sadness reaches the desert of my heart, it shall be the deeper for-taste of everlasting peace and rest…not what I in my misery, and ignorance, and blindness and sin, but “what Thou,” in His mercy and holiness, and wisdom and love.
Sometimes I feel like I’m caught in between darkness and light in a world of shadows, my visibility is limited and I am trusting that though I cannot see, I have a very safe and secure guide but I’m still a bit scared. I do have one word to give you child, trust. Trust that is what He keeps telling me. I trust him but it is me I don’t trust. Death and sorrow are powerful emotions that strip the heart of all defenses, of all common sense, of any protection. Elizabeth my mind speaks logic but my heart has no ears….
I pray my dear one that the road you travel will be lush, abundant, lacking nothing and then you can just toss this aside and ask your mom what this crazy lady is talking about.
Trust, trust that He will give you what is best for what you think is better, and learn to receive His best, to humbly submit with open arms, to weep as well as rejoice that He is your King and to have the assurance even in your darkest hour when the heart is heaviest that you are under His everlasting arms.
In love, in sorrow, in darkness,
Maritza Ray
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Trust
By now I should be so trusting of Him that I would not fret over situations yet to be experienced, my mind plays with my heart often making me feel less stronger than I am. He keeps reminding me that "I am better than I thought and stronger than I believed." Last night was to be my first night alone in the house, after dropping the girls at summer camp for a week. Leaving the girls at camp was very emotional. Abigail rubbed my arm and held on to me 'till the very last minute before I got in the car. I quietly cried part of the way home. I missed them terribly but was also unprepared to be alone, I realize that the Lord is dealing with me in that area of my life. I need to be comfortable with aloneness, I love the quiet house but was dreading sleeping in it. I thought of bringing in my big red dog and let him climb on the couch with me, I didn't think I was "emotionally prepared" for an empty bed last night. Silly? but what can I do, one more thing to get use to, one more fear to surrender. I'm so glad He's very gracious with me and only exposes one weakness at a time, lately I've felt He's on a very intense mission to cleanse me. I wonder what's next?!
After all that worry, I actually slept in my bed alone, well with the menagerie of pets around me ;-) The dogs on the floor at the side and foot of the bed, the bird in her cage quietly cooing before settling for the night and the cat purring at my side nestle between my arm and ribs. I slept soundly, without fear and woke to dawn gently breaking into the room from the skylight above my bed. I cried with relief and thankfulness, "Lord you are so patient with me." I ended up laughing at the silliness of my heart. I should have learned this lesson from my Abigail. Yesterday they had to do a swimming test at camp, and here at home since they swim on the lake and she's never had swimming lessons she has to wear a life vest. She's never gotten in the water without it. I sat and watched from the top bench and wondered if she was going to tell her camp counselor that she can't swim, but to my surprised she jumped in the deep water of the lake without hesitation and swam across as instructed, I stood watching her, surprised that she had so much confidence and no fear when she probably didn't know if she could swim. When she came out of the water and walked to the benches to get her towel I ran to her and hugged her and told her how proud of her I was. She was as surprised as I was that she could swim, I asked her if she was scared and she said no, "I knew that if I began to sink they would pull me out." Isn't that what God does for us? I should have known that if I began to sink from fear He would pull me out!
After all that worry, I actually slept in my bed alone, well with the menagerie of pets around me ;-) The dogs on the floor at the side and foot of the bed, the bird in her cage quietly cooing before settling for the night and the cat purring at my side nestle between my arm and ribs. I slept soundly, without fear and woke to dawn gently breaking into the room from the skylight above my bed. I cried with relief and thankfulness, "Lord you are so patient with me." I ended up laughing at the silliness of my heart. I should have learned this lesson from my Abigail. Yesterday they had to do a swimming test at camp, and here at home since they swim on the lake and she's never had swimming lessons she has to wear a life vest. She's never gotten in the water without it. I sat and watched from the top bench and wondered if she was going to tell her camp counselor that she can't swim, but to my surprised she jumped in the deep water of the lake without hesitation and swam across as instructed, I stood watching her, surprised that she had so much confidence and no fear when she probably didn't know if she could swim. When she came out of the water and walked to the benches to get her towel I ran to her and hugged her and told her how proud of her I was. She was as surprised as I was that she could swim, I asked her if she was scared and she said no, "I knew that if I began to sink they would pull me out." Isn't that what God does for us? I should have known that if I began to sink from fear He would pull me out!
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