"

What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil — this is God’s gift to man.

I perceived that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it. God has done it so that people fear before him.

That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already has been; and God seeks what has been driven away…

"

Ecclesiastes 3:9-15

passing thought #496,094

I used to think that the three MOST powerful words in existence were “I love you.” But you know… I’m not sure that they aren’t surpassed — maybe only by a little, or maybe by a lot — by another phrase:

Don’t be afraid.

Hope. And delay.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.
 Proverbs 13:12

Hope deferred makes the heart sick - When once a good is discovered, want of it felt, strong desire for the possession excited, and the promise of attainment made on grounds unsuspected, so that the reality of the thing and the certainity of the promise are manifest, hope posts forward to realize the blessing. Delay in the gratification pains the mind; the increase of the delay prostrates and sickens the heart; and if delay sickens the heart, ultimate disappointment kills it. But when the thing desired, hoped for, and expected comes, it is a tree of life, ‘ets chaiyim,’ “the tree of lives;” it comforts and invigorates both body and soul. To the tree of lives, in the midst of the gardens of paradise, how frequent are the allusions in the writings of Solomon, and in other parts of the Holy Scriptures! What deep, and perhaps yet unknown, mysteries were in this tree… (Clarke’s Commentary)

Well, that explains that… 

"

We cry for blood, and we take Your life, Hosanna.
We cry for blood, and we take Your life.
It is blood, it is life that You have given.

But You have crushed beneath Your heel the vile serpent.
You have carried to the grave the black stain.
You have torn apart the temple’s holy curtain.
You have beaten Death at Death’s own game.
Hosanna!

"

Andrew Peterson, Hosanna

"

In moments of doubt I cry, “Could God Himself create such lovely things as I dreamed?”

“Whence then came thy dream?” answers Hope.

“Out of my dark self, into the light of my consciousness.”

“But whence first into thy dark self?” rejoins Hope.

“My brain was its mother, and the fever in my blood its father.”

“Say rather,” suggests Hope, “thy brain was the violin whence it issued, and the fever in thy blood the bow that drew it forth.—But who made the violin? and who guided the bow across its strings? Say rather, again—who set the song birds each on its bough in the tree of life, and startled each in its order from its perch? Whence came the fantasia? and whence the life that danced thereto? Didst thou say, in the dark of thy own unconscious self, `Let beauty be; let truth seem!’ and straightway beauty was, and truth but seemed?”

Man dreams and desires; God broods and wills and quickens.

When a man dreams his own dream, he is the sport of his dream; when Another gives it him, that Other is able to fulfil it.

I have never again sought the mirror. The hand sent me back: I will not go out again by that door! “All the days of my appointed time will I wait till my change come.”

Now and then, when I look round on my books, they seem to waver as if a wind rippled their solid mass, and another world were about to break through. Sometimes when I am abroad, a like thing takes place; the heavens and the earth, the trees and the grass appear for a moment to shake as if about to pass away; then, lo, they have settled again into the old familiar face! At times I seem to hear whisperings around me, as if some that loved me were talking of me; but when I would distinguish the words, they cease, and all is very still. I know not whether these things rise in my brain, or enter it from without. I do not seek them; they come, and I let them go.

Strange dim memories, which will not abide identification, often, through misty windows of the past, look out upon me in the broad daylight, but I never dream now. It may be, notwithstanding, that, when most awake, I am only dreaming the more! But when I wake at last into that life which, as a mother her child, carries this life in its bosom, I shall know that I wake, and shall doubt no more.

I wait; asleep or awake, I wait.

"

George MacDonald, Lilth. 

"No matter how forgotten or neglected, there is a child in all of us who is not just willing to believe in the possibility that maybe fairy tales are true after all, but who is to some degree in touch with that truth."

Frederick Buencher, Telling the Truth

passing thought #975,209

I could be wrong… I’m happy to be wrong. But I feel like this trend of telling the church publicly to “shut up” is kind of defeating the purpose, right?

I mean, yeah. She does some really, really, REALLY incredibly stupid ridiculous things. And if what she really needs to do is be quiet… Is it working to keep screaming at her?

Don’t get me wrong. I’ll go head to head with anybody on planet earth that gets frustrated to the point of screaming at her. Maybe even in history. I know that feeling better than I know the feeling of my own blue jeans.

Still. The screaming isn’t helping.

Catch on.

so, this is kind of a big deal.

No, like, this is kind of a gigantic deal. 

This is the kind of deal that changes my entire life.
— the kind that means I’m responsible for something huge.
— the kind that might very well have always — from eternity past — been the way my story goes. 

This is the kind of deal that I’ve dreamt of since the time my clock started on this side of existence. 

Me and one of my all time favorites — the one and only Erin Moon (maybe you’ve heard of her) — 

We’ve written a book.

I would begin my explanation of this with an apology for self-promotion, but I’ll be honest — I want you guys to know we’ve done this. Because I believe in this. I believe in this impossible project almost more than I have ever believed in anything. And you know I don’t say that lightly. 

Hell, what do I say lightly? 

Back to the book — it’s actually the first in what we’re hoping (and by hoping I mean, exhausting ourselves planning and writing already) to be a series. It’s called The Last Beholder and — check us out — you can find updates on the project HERE. 

Stick with me. Here’s where the crazy begins:

1). We’re publishing this book ourselves (scheduled release of 10/11/12). The beauty of this is that (for the control freak in me… I know, I know, you’re all shocked) we get to educate ourselves in the huge, ever-changing publishing process. It’s an incredibly exciting arena, and if you want to know the truth, we are kind of having a great time doing it. 

Other things we are doing? Freaking out. 

Because, I mean, what they don’t tell you in that whole “you can be/have anything you want to be/have” speech in kindergarten is that you have to work your ass off to get there. But you know what? Fine. We’ll work. Because we believe we’ve really been given something… 

And we can do hard things. 

2). In publishing this book ourselves, we were told by a modern sage (yeah, I called you a sage. Don’t pretend it’s not awesome) to create ourselves — not just our book — as a product to sell. So, because we’re just out of our minds with “always wanted to do this” syndrome, we’ve created pen names and (you guessed it) personalities that we will inhabit as the creators of this story. Basically, the real Megan Beam will be broadcast and all will finally be revealed — as my pseudonym is a smart mouthed 80 year old woman with severe quirky tendencies. You’re welcome, universe. Laugh it up.

Here’s the catch: we need your help. Yep, you. The ambiguous, anonymous you who can clearly read. Like, we really need it in order for this to take off. 

Now, if you hate reading — if you hate fiction or children or puppies or things that are awesome — if you hate ME (get out), there is no obligation to this project at all. Seriously. The help that I want is from those of you who have ever thought I had anything to say at all. Any of you that found my house to be a place for you, my friendship something that counted — basically, if you ever loved me at all, you know how deeply I want this. You are the one who can help me by following us (the crazies) on twitter (@wyattandwynn) or “Liking” us on Facebook (facebook.com/wyattandwynn). And if you’re feeling real fancy, sign up for our mailing list — where you’ll be endlessly amused by our brief rants and, who knows (I know), maybe get some awesome stuff. 

By keeping up with these outlets, you will be informed of our great fundraising extravaganza known as your typical (or… not so typical) Kickstarter campaign that we will look to launch in mid-March. I don’t know if you know this, but folks don’t print books for free. So. Here we are. Wishing we’d married rich (I jest) (a little). Working it out anyway. If you can spare a buck, we promise to reward you. 

I think that’s it. On a personal note, words are painfully small when I think of expressing what this project has meant and is continuing to mean for me and the direction the Lord has moved in my life. Short version: He’s real busy. Without question, I could not imagine taking this step with anyone but Erin by my side — being as she has the gift of profound faith that humbles me on a daily - nay hourly - basis. I would not entrust expressing this project visually to anyone but the disgustingly talented and insightful Amy Schell — who continuously blows my mind. And without the stories, support and one-liners of my family and friends of old, I would be devoid of the richness of human beingness — all the ugly, profound, awkward, hilarious, agonizing, truth of what happened to the world and how God intends to restore every stitch. These people — you and your life intertwining with mine for however long or short or deep or shallow a time — are the color in this project. I sincerely hope that the story Erin and I have been digging out of its hiding place for the past 8 months — at the very least — stirs, awakens or yells at something in you that reminds you that you are alive, that you are a part of something, and that, regardless of what your experience tells you time and time again, you matter.

So…. is that a yes? 

and four white mice will never be four white horses…

It came from Elisha when all seemed desperate. The wonderfully vivid narrative in the previous chapter tells a pitiful tale of women boiling their children, of unclean food worth more than its weight in silver, of a king worked up to a pitch of frenzy and murderous designs, and renouncing his allegiance to Jehovah. Such faith as he had was strained to the breaking point, and his messenger was sent to tell the prophet that the king would not ‘wait for the Lord any longer.’ That was the moment chosen to speak the promise. It came, as God’s helps, both of promise and act, so often come, at the very nick of time, when faith is ready to fail and human aid is vain. Before we had learned our hopeless state, they would come too soon for our good; after faith had wholly parted from its moorings, they would come too late.

Note the precision and confidence of the promise. The hour of the fulfilment, and the price of flour and the cheaper barley are stated. Man’s promises are vague; God’s are specific. Mark, too, the entire silence of the promise as to the mode of its fulfilment. Probably Elisha knew as little as any one, how it was going to be accomplished. The particularity and vagueness combined are remarkable. A hint as to how the thing was to be done would have made the belief in the fact so much easier. Yes, and just because it would have smoothed the road for worthless belief, it was not given, but the apparently impossible promise was left in nakedness, for any one who needed sense to animate his faith, to scoff at. Is not that emphatic assertion of the fact, and emphatic silence as to the ‘how,’ a frequent characteristic of God’s promises? If ever we are kept in the dark as to the latter, it is for our good, and for the encouragement of our growth in utter dependence and perfect trust. It is not well for the trusting soul to ask too curiously about methods intervening between the promise in the present and its accomplishment in the future. It is better for peace and the simplicity of our trust, that we should be content to cling to the faithful word, and to ‘believe… that it shall be even as it was told’ us, without troubling ourselves about His way of effecting His purposes. Passengers are not admitted to the engine-room, nor allowed on the bridge. Let them leave all the working of the ship to the captain.

- taken from this sermon by Alexander Maclaren on 2 Kings 7:1-16 

Let it be done to me, then, as You have said.

yeah, it’s my birthday.

I’m not saying that to evoke a response from anybody who forgot (you know who you are)… (just kidding).

It’s inevitable, the things that happen to single girls on their birthdays. I mean, maybe it’s just the post-college, post-graduate school, real-world single girls… but I sort of expected this morning to be overcome with “things I don’t have yet” or “things I haven’t done yet” syndrome.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t. And not because I don’t mourn things that I “don’t have”  or “haven’t done” right now… because despite the rumors to the contrary, I am actually quite normal…

Still, I wasn’t overcome with the opposite, over-enthusiastic “my life is amazing”-itis, either. I just couldn’t seem to escape this melancholy fog.

I woke up 2 and half hours before my alarm – just lying there staring at the ceiling. Thinking that maybe I should feel something? Maybe I should be excited? Or depressed? Anything?

Nothing. Just this kind of somber silence deep in my heart. The whole morning.

I watched a couple of episodes of How I Met Your Mother while I ironed my clothes and put on my makeup, thinking if I just made myself laugh I wouldn’t have to figure out what was plaguing me. Played through a few songs on Spotify before walking up the stairs, ready to leave, and being greeted by my thoughtful roommate, a candle-lit cupcake and a copy of the Letters of JRR Tolkien (An A+ gift, without question).

That melancholy cloud would not leave me alone. It didn’t matter how many deep breaths I took.  How good that cupcake tasted. How much I loved hearing that song in my car. For some reason, I was still on the verge of tears all morning. 

When I’d pulled up to the red light at the end of my complex, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Like the voice of God Himself… in this quiet whisper…

I know what it is.

What, then? What’s my problem? I can’t cry at work on my birthday. People already think I’m dramatic… on top of other questionable behaviors… how much more crazy can I spare to display to the world?

Grey outside. No snow. Slightly chilly, but I’m still not wearing socks. The red light took 18 years longer to turn green and let me turn left. And sitting right there, I could see us… in some other place… Jesus with his hand on my head, telling me exactly what it was that was weighing on me this morning.

28 years ago, today, you left. You’d been with me… you’d been called by your true name. You’d grown old with us, in your home —- in the place you’ve always belonged. And I took you to the door of this reality this day 28 years ago and told you not to be afraid. That I would find you here. And together, we would end up home again.

Naturally, I asked Him not to let my mascara turn my face black and fell slightly apart.

Nailed it. And I’m glad He told me before I got to work, so I would have time to digest and meditate on it without having the emotional response that I did when He opened those floodgates initially.

I don’t know. I didn’t expect 28 to sting in quite this way. I don’t feel old. I don’t feel like I’ve wasted nearly 30 years on the planet. I actually think my life is something worth celebrating today… which is kind of a huge step as of late. But there is that little pang – that ache that feels a bit like Lucy banging on the back of that wardrobe, trying to get back in.  How much longer do I have to be locked out?

It’s just not the way it works. And for some reason, I got a full dose of it today. Feeling like my birthday was some tiny piece of mourning.

Not that I’m going to cry all day. I’m not. I’m going to finish work. Go out with some friends and raise some glasses. In all probability, I’ll laugh and have a good time. And in the middle of all of that healthy, happy celebrating, I’ll see Him there. Telling me that it is some glimpse back into Narnia – that I’ve not been banished. And maybe He’s even bringing, soon, some concrete reminder for me. Some place I can let the breath out I feel like I’ve been holding since I got here.

These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had an opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared for them a city…  Hebrews 11: 13-16

"the tension is here: between who you are and who you could be.
between how it is and how it should be."

Dare You to Move, Switchfoot

Gungor - This is Not the End 

From the newest album, Ghosts Upon the Earth. Make this happen. It would be a mistake for you not to own this album (or at least have it starred on Spotify) #justsayin 

"but the world is full of zanies and fools
who don’t believe in sensible rules,
and won’t believe what sensible people say.
and because these daft and dewy-eyed dopes
keep building up impossible hopes…
impossible things are happening every day."

Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother. And don’t nobody argue with a fairy godmother.

"I know a lot of people who have taken a lot better and turned out a lot worse."

tonight’s words of wisdom from Amy Schell.