Monday, June 18, 2012
catching glimpses of Jesus
"i don't care if you're dead. Jesus is here, and he wants to resurrect somebody." - rumi
i am here. and i want to be resurrected.
in her book, katie davis--the 19-year-old mother of 13 ugandan children--talks about one of her daughters asking if she would explode when she asked Jesus into her heart. "yes," katie told her. "you will."
i want to explode with Jesus too. with love that grows me arms to hug the world close. with compassion that gives me eyes to see the need, to not get tired of seeing. with generosity that thinks nothing of itself.
i've been reading katie's book late into the night, because she reminds me i'm not alone.
being a parent is lonely business. being a mother to someone else's children is the loneliest, and sometimes, well, many times a day, i want to quit. i want to walk away and pretend i don't care.
like friday, when i finally sat down to have my breakfast (three hours after waking), when all of a sudden one of the boys barged into the house and yelled for me. i stood up in a hurry and knocked my glass of milk to the floor and it shattered and i cried, over spilled milk. again.
so this is what it means to die. to weep until your shoulders shake and to wipe up the shards and the milk and to pick yourself up and to try again. to pour another glass. to breathe in and out and in and out, and to remember, everything is a spiritual battle. we do not war against flesh and blood.
and sometimes winning the battle is as simple as folding a child into your arms. sometimes it's folding laundry. sometimes it's hands, folded in prayer. and sometimes it's folding paper into origami cranes.
and this, i think, why God doesn't let us see his face outright. because life is about catching glimpses of him (like reflections of the sun on water) in everything we do. in all of the folding and the breaking and the breathing and the weeping. in every way in which we die, we see more of him. and the final breath on earth will pull back the curtain completely, leaving us in the presence of One who was there all along.
linking with ann, michelle, jen, jennifer and laura