Have you listened to this?
I did. And while I listened, the whole of my world slowed, the sound winding down (gradually down) until the roar became a slow-motion whine, then a whisper, and then…silence. Can you hear the deafening silence?
For me, there are no words, no sarcastic quips. There is nothing left to pontificate. The talking heads mouth soundlessly, for they have nothing rational to say, either. I don’t even know what I think anymore.
My prayers choke in my throat…prayers about decisions, for we must know about things like whether the Boy should stay here this coming weekend and play fall baseball or to go with his dad and older brothers on a long-awaited dove-hunting trip.
In the above clip, Gianna says her goal in life is (by the time she dies) to be as hated as possible, not that she, in her flesh, will enjoy this, but to feel God around her, to understand better because her Lord was hated.
Again, the thundering silence in my soul…
This week, in our school, we began reading this book. It is the true story of a noble, strong and proud African prince, who watched his father killed as he, himself, was being torn from his crippled sister, snatched away, and sold into slavery by members of his own race, and European traders, hungry for profit. Did you hear me say the story is true?
To be so hated…
(Photo credit here.)
My head shakes slowly back and forth, and my lips are closed (speech frozen), but oh, I am sniveling and weak, and I hate pain. I don’t want to think about these things. And I never, (ever) want to experience being hated like this. And yet, the servant is not above the master, is she? Am I?
Silence, silence. I chew on the silence. I sink into it, and there (for now) I stay, still and waiting. I need to learn here for awhile.
No answers, today, or ever, for that matter…only gratefulness. And care that swells and beats within me, wanting to reach out to all of you, (humanity, we) and grasp your hand, to throw arms around you and hold tightly and weep over these things.
Can’t we hold each other and care together and scream out and stop some of this hating and make some kind of microscopic difference?
We have to start somewhere.
And oh, Precious Lord, thank You, for so many things they cannot be listed here. We will talk of them later, together, You and I. And this clay needs to yield to Your hands, for whatever may be in them to create in me, make of me, do to me.
24“A student is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master.”
(Matthew 10:24, NIV)
Quietly, simply, counting with Anne today (#s 1130-1142):
*A peaceful walk (all alone) on a sunny, fall day
*My ancient, soft nightshirt, filled with holes
*Rene’, again and again
*A beaded lamp, bathing already golden walls with yet more yellow
*Gourmet popcorn stores
*Lauren in hairdressing school
*Chatting in the grocery isles for far too long
*Lunch with Stacy
*Smooth, jazz keeping me company as I work
*That June cares enough to want me there