Tag Archives: communion

the beauty of affliction

The phone rings several times and I almost hang up before she answers.

I talk. She listens with her gaping wide-open heart.
She talks and I hear… with my gaping wide-open  heart.

There are no words to say, to fix, to heal… apart from the words
of the One we both are knowing more day by day.
The One who *knows* us even more.

She speaks and I listen harder when the words come.. from that deep place she’s been many times before. The place where joy comes in the morning… through the mourning.

“You get to choose how much of the grief you’ll wear.” she counsels.
“You can keep stirring the pot and more will come up to the surface and you get to decide what to do with it.”

Stirring the pot.       Yes.

Jesus, who speaks through this affliction,  speaks from affliction… for the afflicted.

For us.
For the nows. afflicted crying camillas

We recognize Him………in the breaking…. the breaking… the breaking.

And I know what I must do.

Stir the pot and use what comes to the surface to feed others who find themselves here…

hurting and hungry.
Thoroughly confused and thirsting…
For the Bread of Life… for the Living water.

He did not let this cup pass from Him.
Neither did she.
Nor will I.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of mercies and God of all comfort,
who comforts us in all our affliction,
so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction,
with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings,
so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.
2 Corinthians 1:3-5 (ESV)

The table is open. Come. 

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“Birdie Bread” {a family tradition}

Bread is my mortal weakness.
***********       It’s the “achilles heel” of my thighs!

Not all bread mind you…no I am a …. {gasp}

Bread SNOB!

In fact, I have to confess…I am a food snob of sorts….but that’s a different post for a different day because today, I must share with you one of our family traditions; Birdie Bread!  Typically, these delicious things show up at our table for Thanksgiving, but they’ve been known to make an appearance for Christmas or Easter as well.

People….Few things can take me down a sinful path faster than a hunk of freshly baked bread slathered with good butter…or just hot out of the oven. I can work up an appetite just *thinking* about the stuff! Part of it is psychological and emotional; my mother showed me breadmaking in action. The rest?

It’s all me baby! Let me tell you more…

the{race} of the Remnant

the-race-of-the-remnantOh the inexpressible joy of standing fresh-faced and lovely at the dawn of the journey surrounded by others in the newness of their own.

Stepping out and moving forward. Light-hearted conversation flowing between, around and amongst the travelers just excited to be there and counted among those traveling.

Excited to be on the road and going somewhere maybe…finally…for the first time ever.

How smooth and wide and light the first miles seem to be. How good and noble and right it is to be headed in a new direction…with so little need to turn aside distracted or disrupted because… the new is good.

So on I go, for hours and days and miles only cautiously becoming aware that the road is narrowing and even upon it’s easiest terrain some, who not long ago joined in the journey, have already turned back or turned aside quickly, hobbled by unseen enemies. Others,  not used to any weight upon their shoulders or the strain of steady walking for any length of time, became easily bored and slipped away, enticed by a different light… heeding a different voice.

Engrossed and in spite of fewer and fewer beside me, I stand only momentarily to choose between crossroads. Beloved companions give way to an easier route with promises of a lighter load and the hidden deceptions of false light and personal glory.  Others, stumble and fall into unseen traps laid upon the highway, now refusing to rise and carry their cross any further…refusing to take hold of the promise that lies ahead.

His voice is the only voice I hear. His Light is the only light I see. Heavy-hearted and weary,   I know I must continue on without them because… I can carry no one.

There are days like these when the road seems endlessly lonely and the view of the horizon is obscured by the haze of hard living and the weight of walking upon the cursed soil.

There are days when the voices of those who know and heed the Voice of Truth are few and far between.

There are times when it’s harder to hear, but His voice, the voice of God, is still there….you simply have to want to listen.

You simply have to choose.

Joy is revealed, it is learned and discovered… in those moments along the narrow way, when the haze lifts and you find there really are others walking steadily beside you; a remnant remains. And God is there in each of our eyes!

We remind one another of that very first day we set out to walk…whenever it was… we share from the common cup of community and continue the journey spurred on by a crowd of by-faith-and-yet-unseen witnesses who went on before.

Along the way, we learn the simple truth:

it it’s not about the speed,
it’s about the endurance
and we never walk alone.

Called forward and onward and upward and always a little bit higher than the day before, we walk on until our race is over and we reach our journey’s end….or is it the real beginning?

Until then, we gather along the road to commune and encourage. We eat the bread, drink the cup and some of us…here… we write and record the reasons for remembrance, extending the invitation to others.