day #2 - woven stories

minnesota has been overtaken by abominable beings donned 

in ridiculous fur covered wraps and masses of billowy down covered apparel. smart cars and mini's have transformed into monsters relentlessly spewing gritty grains of sand and clearing a path with their unforgiving jaws. in one night, life as we midwesterner's have known it stepped into the salon for a little makeover and came out a drag-queen diva. and whether we want to or not we are forced to stop our routines and yield to the

 metamorphisizing diva of nature.

the force behind mother nature is her ability to craft a well orchestrated rhythm of life. we adjust our clocks to the rising of the sun, to the onset of twilight. our wardrobe is directly linked to the masquered by which mother nature dances. even the state of our psychological make-up is contingent upon nature's force. she does not abide by our way of life, rather we transform in accordance to her command.

this got me thinking. everything in creation was and is fashioned together by the almighty. the stretching hands of trees reach to the heavens while the inumberable grains of sand on the shore are incomparable to the thoughts god hold for us. there is a very distinct pattern set within every fiber of nature in such a glorious 

way and since this is true (just open your eyes and watch the world take place around you), the ways in which we live according to nature is ultimately a refelction to the ways in which we live - whether consciously or unconsciously - in rhythm to the god of creation. 

i wonder how many bundled minnesotan's recognize this radical harmony we share between christ and mother nature. creation works together in harmony. the logos of god shakes the snow from my boots and i am left undone, dripping with humility and adoration. through the gracious providence of christ my story is woven together with those around me, communally we are intertwined with the story of creation and all together we are tied to the unbroken unity of the triune god.

 

day #1 - silent snow

 falling snow, billowing silence.

the deep autumn has finally let go of her last leaf today. she held out for as long as her brittle hands would allow as though she was gifting her admirers with an unusually long glimpse into the soul by which she exists. with one last gasping breath, autumn ushered in a new guest. like a seamless relay, the baton of seasons was passed from one to another and before we admirers knew what was taking place, brother winter had already wrapped us in his billowy embrace. 

sweet autumn, i am one of your many enthusiasts and i thank you for the ways you have modeled what it is to persevere. the steadfastness of your company is worthy to be acknowledged by all.

the task at hand for today was to become a learned student of nature. that is was this mini-series of blog posts is all about. what can i learn from nature? what is she asking of me? how does she collide with my soul? i did receive a rather large portion of enlightenment from the unexpectedness of mother nature, but i can't help but wonder if this simple revelation illumined itself in lieu of the recent self-awakening regarding the simple and painful tendencies threaded throughout by being. i am learning the characteristics of silence. silence presents itself as the penetrating nourishment our dry bones cry out for; it exists as our greatest remedy. and all at once a divergence springs forth; silence poses as the stitches that bind the liberation of our brokenness. we become enslaved to the fear entangled throughout the riskiness of confessing and fail to step forward in vulnerable authenticity.

during my crawl home this evening i couldn't help but take notice of the abysmal influence the seemingly innocent snowflakes carried underneath their glittery robes. many times the winter season is equated to silence. layers of blankety whiteness stills the noise of this world in which we live and we are unknowingly disarmed. i watched with full attention the beauty of the falling snow and wondered to myself - how can something as tender as these snowflakes accumulate into a mess of dormancy? the snow began to fall early this morning like molecules of glitter and remained in that finite state throughout the day. and this is how our silence begins. it seems harmless at first and we acutally believe that we can stand unaffected by its power and never would we tantalize the possiblity that it can impress upon the lives of those around us. but it does. just as the millions of icy fragments fall quietly from the sky above, they inevitably grow into walls of inprisonment. 

just as snow must be shoveled so that we can walk through and reach our destination so too must silence cease to bind our trembling lips in such a way that our souls are freed to bask in the light of voice. 

theology of the ladies

i cringe writing this... but i think that once my little adventure in emerson land is complete, i will boldly feed myself to the lions and blog about the theology of women in leadership. check back in a week for the purging of my endless musings.

inspired by emerson

as my american literature class comes to a sorrowful close, i was struck by a glittery realization today. every work, every great american writer we've studied throughout the entirety of this course has in one way or another been radically shaped and inspired by emerson. more specifically, the authors that follow in the footsteps of this american literature hero weave his sweet obsession towards nature into their own masterpieces. 

thoreau spends years in quiet solitude, living alone by a pond and seeking to embrace the simple life. the river is what gives life to mark twain's creativity. the whiteness of the whale that leaves every melville fan in a state of introspection. chopin's focus on the liberation of the endless ocean. keuroac and his infectious novel of the vibrancy and spontaneity that comes from life on the road. picking apples with frost while deciding what road you should take. even up to dillard and her musings at tinker creek. everyone of the literature forefathers i adore have been influenced by one man and i cannot ignore the throbbing inquisition that levitates my gaze in such a way that i am left with a single desire to mimic the attention to nature that emerson speaks so highly of.

starting tomorrow i am going to begin an intentional note taking of the nature that surrounds me and i will post a few brief comments encompassing my observations. for it is not only emerson that encourages us to consider nature, but this invitation carries back to the desert fathers and mothers of the early centuries and even further to the intriguing command delivered by jesus. "consider the birds of the air... consider the lilies of the field...". i welcome your company on this brief stint into the world of nature that has manifested itself into a collection of life altering documentations beginnig with christ, filtering through the monastic movement, and picking up with the transcendentalists.

the mystery of silence

king david certainly knew what he was talking about when he crafted together the 32nd psalm. he speaks of the relentless grip silence has upon the pulse of human life.

"when i kept silent my bones wasted away."

what a mystery the art of silence is. we are taught to be still and know that god is god. there are stories written concerning the voice of god existing in the quietness of a whisper. and in a world exploding with noise the heart of human desire is for a space in which we can unravel our toiled souls in the comfort of silence. how can psalm 23 create a portrait of life that is fostered by the quietness when just 9 chapters later our pathetic understanding towards silence is utterly shredded by the anguish of david's wasting bones. silence brings death. silence delivers life. does this makes sense to anyone?

i have been recognizing the life that comes when i choose to speak out. my natural tendency is to remain silent and tip-toe my way through life with wildflowers in my hair, twirling in and out of experiences while waving my glittery wand of idealism. to share with others the truth of what lies behind my twinkled eyes and bushy tail rarely takes precedence over delivering the typical response of 'all is well'! for the past couple of months my heart has been suffocating underneath the dark challenge of transitioning back into midwest culture. reverse culture shock is a bitch to navigate and the loneliness that inevitably lingers in every paramount life transition has manifested itself in distorted and ugly ways. and it is this bout of depression i have been drowning in that the mystery of silence presents itself as my oars of salvation. in search of something life-giving i was drawn to a poem i had written for a sermon on the 32nd psalm given on ash wednesday during the lenten season last year.

ash wednesday selah

my bones
they are wasting away
the sin
of my soul
is too hideous to reveal.
in silent hiding
i must remain.
but dare i
acknowledge
the veiled ugliness?
selah...
day and night
your hand
it is so heavy
crushing, pressing down
upon me.
the strength
of my flesh wilts
as in the heat
of summer's sun.
all day long
groaning seeps from
every fiber of my being.
this pain is too great.
but dare i
acknowledge
the veiled ugliness?
selah...
my eyes
grow weaker still
with the sorrow and grief
that consumes me.
the affliction
of my heart
crushes the spirit
within.
brokenhearted i remain
alone, cold, and anguished.
but dare i
acknowledge the veiled ugliness?
selah...
untiring hands
stretch forth
in the emptiness of my night.
again i refuse
your comfort to my soul
it is easier here
the familiarity of sin
has become a companion.
my silence
strengthens its deceptive
friendship.
but dare i
acknowledge
the veiled ugliness?
selah...
forsaken i have become
who can save me?
the pain
of my loneliness
strangles the light
holding me hostage
as a prisoner of inequities.
the troubles of
my heart
have conceived and filled
my life with despair.
there is only silence.
but dare i
acknowledge
the veiled ugliness?
selah...

proverbs 31 and fun panties

i think i'm strange. there are small peculiarities threaded throughout my make-up that do not normally credit my attention, but when i observe the greater population and see that they hold a vastly different form, i'm left concluding that i am indeed (and rather proudly) a rare breed. the pinnacle example that affirms my odd ways is the anticipation i have to turn 30 - i can hardly wait.

there is a glitter that comes with being a little bit older. it seemed that the moment i crossed the quarter life threshold, an abundant of restful confidence was poured from the hands that created me and filled every crater of insecurity that covered my years of youth. what is it about passing the age of 25 that the race to impress others draws to a liberating end and the anxieties of whether or not you have what it takes ceases to keep you awake at night? whatever the reason, i am grateful for it. as i grow older the desire to be somebody fancy lessens (not completely mind you, i think deep down everyone wants to be their own rock star) and the longing to be a servant takes a beaming precedence. 

to crack my point past where the dandelions grow and over the fence, i offer the most recent transformation of heart that is taking place within. during the infancy of my life as a follower of christ i shrugged off every consideration of growing into a "proverbs 31" woman. the picture i had of a proverbs 31 woman was the kind of women who wear turtle necks, nude colored cotton briefs and boring full coverage bras. the kind of women who carry bibles with painted flowers on the cover and who would never dare spout off anything close to resembling a cuss word. i was never that kind of a woman. i like to wear panties that make me feel sexy and pink lace bras. i swear, sometimes too often, and i really, really like a cold beer or a glass (by glass i mean bottle) of sassy red wine that makes me feel overly romantic. my bible is painfully tattered and filled with ink stains and there isn't a trace of thomas kinkade anywhere near it. but the older i get the more my ideas of a proverb 31 woman change and the greater my longing to be shaped into one grows. 

"noble character". this is as far as i get into the 31st proverb before tears well in the pockets of my eyes. another facet of getting older is that i care more about character, my own and those of the people around me, than i do about the things that they know or the embellishments of accomplishments framed on their walls. i want to follow christ. i want to be transformed, broken, intoxicated with love, and serve selflessly until the day that i die. i want to know of the wild ways in which the grace of god is shaping the hearts of my friends, changing lives, uniting people groups, and delivering radical healings. i crave to learn from the women who have accumulated wisdom from experiences i have not yet tasted - especially from the women who wear nude colored lingerie. a woman of nobility, now that is lovely.

there are 2 women that immediately come to mind when i think of proverbs 31 women. the first is my older sister beth. what makes her so lovely is the stunning style in which she loves. beth is one of the most selfless people i know. she is a gorgeous mother of 4 beautiful girls, with baby number 5 blessing our world this spring. as the oldest child she has the natural ability to protect, nurture, and express every maternal instinct created. the second woman that i am so thankful for is my dear friend kathy.  i first met kathy almost 6 years ago but only in the last 3 months have i really begun to get to know her. i am awed by her grace and her fierce strength. kathy exudes intentionality with everything that she does and she has shown me (unaware i am sure) what it is to be a triune woman - lover of god, wife, and mother. they are three separate identities yet mysteriously connected. 

it is so interesting to me how desires change with age. the dreams i once thought would decorate my life forever gently fade in light of wisdom and selflessness. my 28th birthday is only weeks away and i am anticipating an even deeper yearning to be a woman of god rather than the attention demanding motives of my youth. i may not ever purchase high waist cotton underwear and i may never stop swearing (though i'm trying to cut back), but i can still be a women of noble charcter - even with the lace around my hips and a glass of wine in my hand.

"honor the sabbath and keep it holy, but brianna - you don't have to"

over the past two and a half months i feel like i have been living at a nauseating speed with no room to grab a paper bag and relieve myself from the gut-wrenching busyness that shackles rest to the walls of my palace of demands - lord have mercy. with this lifestyle there is little room to tap away on my keyboard for the pure enjoyment of it.  instead the only exercise my fingers see comes from titling every processed image from past photography gigs, or pouring out pages from a shallow well of comprehension in  clumsy attempt to prop myself onto a theological standpoint that rises only as high as a single semester of studying enables. "bcm_001, bcm_oo2, bcm_oo3... arminian vs. calvin (i'm leaning towards arminian, but that could change with semester #2) aquinas and constantine". for the love of god, where is the poetry? or the mindless outpouring of a girl's inquisitions?

here it is. i am pausing my photography work - wait, that's a lie. i am simultaneously processing images while blogging. dear reader i hope this post makes sense and successfully expresses a conviction of heart that surfaced through a friend's obedience. let me know how i'm doing.

multiple times throughout scripture the lord calls, or commands us rather, to honor the sabbath and for some arrogant reason i think that i am the exception to this rule. and in my unconscious refusal to separate one day out of the week to breathe deeply, put my feet up and (god could i allow it??) watch a movie, lay in my prayer closet and listen to the sound of silence, read a book because i want to, or take a nap if i need to; i am left riding the never ending tilt-a-whirl of badgerings. and i have 42 new stress-zits to prove it. why do i do this to myself? my sister always asks me, "why do you feel like you need to be busy all of the time?". every time she asks me this i am tripped up by the way she structured her question. "why do you FEEL like you need to be busy...". being a deeply sensory based woman i can quite honestly say i do not feel like i need to be busy, it just happens to end up that way. but after hearing my sister ask me this question over and over i was forced to take an introspective look to find the answer.

in effort to keep from sprinting down an unnecessary rabbit trail i will summarize my discovery. after meditating on the reason for my busyness i ended with the revelation that i live such a maddening schedule in order that i may avoid hidden feelings. enough said about that, i'll save it for a separate post. that one moment of mediation spurred me to think more seriously about honoring the sabbath. i wonder, how much intimacy with christ i am missing because i choose every other idol in life before i choose time with him? am i failing to hear his voice because my fingers are plugging my ears as i go waltzing away from the one who bids me to rest? can i be the mentor i want to be to my lovely young ladies when i have no space to breathe? how can i love all my peanut-butter's (nieces and nephews) in the capacity that i long to when i fill my time slots with work? i have become a work-aholic and i didn't even know it.

a dear friend of mine that i greatly respect is daring to say no to the voices that scream from our crafted 'to-do lists', and he is choosing instead to obey christ's command by keeping a sabbath. through his obedience i am gently convicted and furthermore, i am allured into an invitation to rest. the way that i am affected by my friend's wise choice only solidifies my observations of the fact that the ways in which we live our lives, in one way or another, touches every person around us. good or bad, our choices have the ability to exude life and invite others to embrace it, or they carry the sting of selfish disobedience and fail miserably to point to the cross. though i have no clue what it looks like to hold a day of rest, or even how to begin, i crave it. i need it. and i need it because i cannot do anything without the strength of christ, though he knows how hard i try.

to my friend - i thank you for your obedience, it pierces my chaotic lifestyle. 

a little piece of enlightenment.

for years there has been this intrigue within my heart that will momentarily manifest into a quiet longing. the act of fasting never ceases to captivate my attention. but it is a deeply mysterious call to humility that with it, i am confronted with masses of perplexities. considerations such as; how do i begin fasting - do i simply choose a random day and declare, "today i shall fast!"?what are my motivations for fasting? and what is the foundational purpose of fasting?, confine me to a state of thinking about fasting rather than participating in it's beauty.

the scales started to peel away from my eyes as i read through the gospel of matthew. my mind was held captived when i listened the response of jesus' when john's disciples asked; 

"why is it that we and the pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast?" 

in all patience, jesus explained just as plainly as you would explain anything to an inquisitive, wonder-struck child. his disciples do not fast because they are in the presence of their bridegroom. there is no need for fasting when the bridegroom in with them. but, jesus continues; there will come a time when the bridegroom will be taken from them, then they will fast. this is the breath of fresh air i needed to begin clearing the foggy misunderstanding that suffocates the the clarity to the purpose of fasting. 

the bridegroom has been taken from us. we no longer walk with him, eat with him, or sit before his feet in an incarnate fashion. and so we must fast for his return. we must humble ourselves and cry out along with the spirit for the bridegroom to 'come!' we fast because without the bridegroom our souls are deprived of the very source of life. and we fast in order to fill the golden bowls of the prayers of the spirit that will be poured out and release the return of the bridegroom jesus.