golden clay

Who said the Old Testament isn’t helpful to everyday. I read how God delivers them all from their enemies. How all Judah bent their knees before Jehovah, a grand surrender. I meet the day with a smile.

I’ve heard stories about how people die.

Some go, lifting hands to heaven, a smile flickering and fading out.

Some go, clenching fist to heart, the face hardened as the heart inside.

How will you go?

I wonder sometimes, especially on days like today when the phone-call comes. That dear one is no longer here to be loved.

But, the funeral, the phone-call, the heart weighed down make me wonder: How will I go?

I hope…I trust…I know, if not hands held out to heaven, then soul held tight in Jesus’ hands.

How will you go?

I am flesh, struggling to secure the control over my life. And I clear forgot.

He is my Master. Master of my soul.

And here I’ve been trying to manage it anyways. I’ve given Him the steering wheel, but told Him which way I’d prefer Him to turn me.

Surrender comes when, not just the heart, but even the thoughts, the desires, and the plans are His alone.

Sometimes words are like the snowflakes this morning, evading my tongue. So, I borrowed a few words from the people who catch them well and root them deep into others’ hearts.

“Where is now the Lord God of Elijah? He is waiting for Elijah to call on Him!” –James Gilmour

“We will have all of eternity to celebrate the victories, and only a few hours before sunset in which to win them.” –Amy Carmichael

“I grieve that my love is no stronger, and that I am no more like Him. I wonder at His glory, and sink before Him with shame. How is it that the soul being of such value, and God so great, eternity so near and yet we are so little moved?” –William Bramwell

It’s early morning and I’m a robot, praying. My words are good, perfect, beautiful. But, I’m not really praying anything. My mind is still in my pillow, in my textbooks, in my schedule. Does God care to hear what I really want to say? Since when do we feel the need to hide where we’re really at? I feel like Adam and Eve. My heart is fully exposed; God sees how distracted I am, but I’m too afraid to tell Him. Doesn’t He just want to pull us back into His peace, back into focus?

I haven’t gone home this month. It’s Monday and I can only think of the weekend.

What will it take for us to finally notice the moments that we’re actually in? Moments: the small things that add up to so much time, so many gifts. Will we throw them, still wrapped, into yesterday’s trash? When did the present become the past that it no longer holds any wonder, any mystery, any awe?

I’m alone in the practice room with the baby grand sleeping quietly, its white and black keys exposed.

Skin meets ivory. Fingertips fly down passage-ways of keys.

My roommate hums while she washes china plates. She sings in the shower. We laugh about it together.

I read later how David made music.

Isn’t that how Christians should be known? Why can’t we be the ones who make music, or even noise? The joy we have in our hearts explode into songs of happiness.

How thankful I am that I am not Jesus.

And the globe freezes over once more. I crack its crystal puddles with my boots as I walk, the snow blowing down in small hard balls. Sometimes my heart is so hard too. How often do I really listen to the still small voice? I talk a lot, ask a lot, but do I listen a lot?

Eyes open to darkness, mixed with the soft green glow of my roommate’s alarm clock. The floor is cool against my toes. The rain is steadily pressing itself into the dirt outside my window, the blackness of night’s end hiding the raindrops’ effect on the winter ground.

And the closing of the first week of school brings one thought: God is love. All I want is His love watering my soul, spilling over. Rain on me, Lord Jesus.