If you tarry 'til you're better, you will never come at all.

Written by Joseph Hart, 1795. The song is called, I Will Arise and Go to Jesus. How easily I forget that everything I could ever ask for has been given to me already. I live trying to make myself better and fix my problems on my own, forgetting that the embrace of my Savior is waiting for me in an instant, no matter what condition I am in. He stands ready with the power to give life, while we run in the opposite direction. I am reminded that without Him we are weak and wounded; we cannot fix our own hearts.

Come, ye sinners, poor and needy,
Weak and wounded, sick and sore;
Jesus ready stands to save you,
Full of pity, love and power.

[chorus]
I will arise and go to Jesus,
He will embrace me in His arms;
In the arms of my dear Savior,
O there are ten thousand charms.

Come, ye thirsty, come, and welcome,
God’s free bounty glorify;
True belief and true repentance,
Every grace that brings you nigh.

Come, ye weary, heavy laden,
Lost and ruined by the fall;
If you tarry till you’re better,
You will never come at all.

Michael Card's version can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vMxuWdmcVo

Shh.

shh, there i am,
asleep; sedated.

it's easier than being awake
with a mind going crazy
and a smile that feels fake.

wake me up with
words from Thee,

rest in Me.

Thank-you, Jon Foreman

Jon Foreman can write like nobody's business. Well, I think so anyway. He wrote this article on overcoming cynicism, relating back to the story of Joan of Arc and his own life experiences. By the middle to end I'm completely inspired and hanging off every word. History rocks. So freaking cool. And, I love how he weaves seemingly incompatible stories together to make a beautiful, motivating point. History is not separate from today - Joan of Arc becomes just as real as whatever is happening now. We are stories intertwined. My life, your life: one big, beautiful tapestry.

I was going to paste a snippet of it here but I don't want to ruin the profundity of it when read as a whole.

Found here on Switchfoot blog:

http://wereawakening.blogspot.com/2010/05/jon-foreman-on-joan-of-arc-elliot-smith.html

A Summer Lament

(An adaptation of Psalm 88)

Lord God, you save me,
all day and night I seek you.
May my words reach you;
Turn a listening ear.
For my soul is full of trouble
and it's only the start of summer.

I call out for your guidance, Lord;
this morning my prayers meet you.
You took my companions and loved ones from me;
the shadows are my closest friend.
My soul is full of trouble
and it's only the start of summer.

A beautiful novel that makes me think about fear.

I'm reading the most beautiful book by Alan Paton called Cry, the Beloved Country, which takes place in the mid-1940s in Ndotsheni and Johannesburg, South Africa. It follows the quest of a native priest, named Stephen Kumalo, to find his son, as well as his experiences of and reflections living under white oppression. When the whites came and implanted their European structures, the tribe was broken. The relationship of humans to the land and to each other deteriorated, leading to distrust and subjugation. One major theme in the novel is fear; fear of the oppressed native who resorts to crime, and yet fear of the native who is given rights, opportunity and power. Fear is on every page and in the heart of each character. Paton writes:

We do not know, we do not know. We shall live from day to day, and put more locks on the doors, and get a fine fierce dog when the fine fierce bitch next door has pups, and hold on to our handbags more tenaciously; and the beauty of the trees by night, and the raptures of lovers under the stars, these things we shall forego. We shall forego the coming home drunken through the midnight streets, and the evening walk over the star-lit veld. We shall be careful, and knock this off our lives, and knock that off our lives, and hedge ourselves about with safety and precaution. And our lives will shrink, but they shall be the lives of superior beings; and we shall live with fear, but at least it will not be a fear of the unknown. And the conscience shall be thrust down; the light of life shall not be extinguished, but be put under a bushel, to be preserved for a generation that will live by it again, in some day not yet come; and how it will come, and when it will come, we shall not think about at all....

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

Perhaps, in some respect, we all live with this fear at a corporate and an individual level - a fear of what would happen if we gave up control. Rather than flourishing to our fullest potential, we create boundaries that limit growth, all because we are afraid of risking failure or loss. We are afraid of the unknown and what it could cost us; we are even afraid to seek justice because we want to keep our power. But perhaps the bars we put up to keep out threats end up becoming our cage and we don't really end up having any power or freedom after all. Perhaps in trying to keep our lives we indeed lose them.

dearma & poppa's house

everything is still
the highway just a scribble on a sheer white canvas;
evergreens tower on both sides as if to guard some secret
that, if revealed, would make nature lose its wonder.

and there, i see it, tucked away beneath the snowy hill where it belongs.

the house: a world unto itself, immune to time, awaits
where smells and sounds from seasons passed emerge
as if left untouched and waiting my return.

this is where we played and hiked and dreamed of other worlds.
stories that materialized, and, before our eyes
were colourfully brought to life...
through gentle island voices and happy childlike hearts.

so now i'm rediscovering relics in dusty cabinets full of age and
learning from the wisest, remembering what it is to play
and to not have fear of anything.

this food tastes like love, these clocks sound like home;
a sanctuary from the cold and from the world outside
for just a little while.