but first this silence

continued excerpts from a delicate fade ...

there is a picture in the window, a faded image in the half-glow
and I can see through this night line to the world outside
but first this quiet falling on my mind, and a display of empty things
I think I have forgotten how to dream
and hope, maybe I remember what that means.

there is a story in the white book, a vague memory in my notebook
and I can see through the dead lines to the tears inside
but first this silence pounding on my eyes, and a cascade of simple things
I think I have forgotten what that means
(maybe I remembered how to dream).

(artwork courtesy my brother Josh DeVries)

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what wondrous love

I happened across the hymn "What Wondrous Love is This" over the weekend while listening to a favorite collection by Fernando Ortega.  I've been struck by the relevance of the words not only to Good Friday, but also to our deep longing to be part of a world forever free from death and pain, which this particular lyrical arrangement from The Hesperian Harp (1848) really draws out: 

What wondrous love is this,
O my soul! O my soul!
What wondrous love is this, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this
That caused the Lord of bliss
To bear the dreadful curse,
For my soul, for my soul,
To bear the dreadful curse, for my soul.

(photo credit Giuseppe Anello/123rf.com)

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thoughts on the wilderness

from Nancy Janisch of Conversation in Faith ...

It is common in Lent for Christians to think about this season as a wilderness journey or to reflect on our experiences in the wilderness.  When Christians talk about the wilderness, we’re not talking about a backcountry hiking trip.  We’re talking about an experience of trial and stress – life-challenging and life-changing.

In the Bible, when people go into the wilderness two things happen.  Being in the wilderness is a time of danger.  There is scarcity of food and water.  There are wild animals.  When one is in the wilderness, one is separated from the protection and comfort of community.

(photo of Namib Desert credit Dmitry Pichugin/123rf.com)

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2nd anniversary & input welcomed

This Saturday marks the second anniversary of already, empathy.  I'm grateful for the persistent nudge which finally prompted me to begin blogging here two years ago (then under the moniker with those who), however inconsistent entries have been at times since. 

I owe a special thanks to the friends and family who have generously contributed their own writing, poetry and artwork, and to those who have shared the site with others (including recently Alison Carmack of The Methodist Digest, M. Kent Travis, Valerie McGowan of Black. Female. Christian. Vegan.).  But I'm grateful for each of you who have communicated encouragement and insight along the way.

(photo credit Fabio Alcini/123rf.com)

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holy home-sickness

(photo credit Péter Gudella/123rf.com)from G. K. Chesterton's Manalive ...

"Something in the word 'pilgrim' awoke down in the roots of my ruinous experience memories of what my fathers had felt about the world, and of something from whence I came.  I looked again at the little pictured lantern at which I had not looked for fourteen years.

"'My grandmother,' I said in a low tone, 'would have said that we were all in exile, and that no earthly house could cure the holy home-sickness that forbids us rest.'

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a delicate fade

Ten years ago I was working on endless redrafts of the first few chapters of a manuscript with the working title a delicate fade.  It was originally meant to be a fairly balanced exploration of some of the more personal implications of the already/not yet of God's kingdom, a reality which had been indelibly impressed on me in bible college with the help of New Testament professor C. Marvin Pate.  But it ended up being introverted in the extreme, and rather heavy on the "not yet" end of things:

I’ve had to fight sadness more than I expected in writing this.  I started out with so much hope and the potential to be objective about what came my way.  But the more composed and intelligent I tried to be, the more I knew that I was only hiding from myself and whatever else I knew to be true.

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a spacious place

continued from "small spaces" ...

I went back to work the next day, hoping to take some time to think through my longing for a more "spacious" existence, and to wonder whether God had in fact given me that word as a way of legitimizing our need, even as a prayer.  I sat down to read a bit more in Psalm 18 before starting my cleaning routine at church, and from where I had left off the night before the very next verses were:

He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.  He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me.  They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the LORD was my support.  He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me. (vs. 16-19, NIV, emphasis added)

(photo credit bizoon/123rf.com)

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do not exasperate

I love running my hand over the head of my toddler son Jadon, sometimes giving him a playful noogie and other times gently ruffling his hair.  For some reason, it's one of the most natural ways for me to show affection to him.  Perhaps because he's so much shorter than me and my hand hovers close to his head, but I suspect it's also something hard-wired into me.  (I haven't made a big deal of telling my wife, but I love the gentle feeling when she runs her fingers through my own hair.)

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in the supermarket line.

from Leanna Jackson ...

Being a generally private person bordering on anti-social, I've never begun to comprehend why people try to talk to you in line at the market.  I am shy and awkward, and I don't know these people. 

Still, this guy in line in front of me, buying his booze, turned with that forced smile and asked me about my coffee.  His daughter used to work at Dunkin Donuts, he said.  He also promised I'd enjoy it. 

(photo credit Lech Saloni/123rf.com)

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being present

I met Josh Evans during a Counseling Skills small group at grad school, and soon found him to be an empathetic and valued friend.  Josh, who is one of the most dedicated husbands and fathers (to two young girls) I know, recently started a candid and compelling blog called The Daddy Craft.  He hopes it will be "a resource for dads where they can go for the types of tips and pieces of advice I was searching for, and am still searching for," and writes: "I don’t ever want to pretend I have all the answers ... I think we can all learn from one another."

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