Life's Rests

Awhile ago, a friend had sent me a paper with a quote from John Ruskin on it.  I had stuck it away and kind of forgotten about it, but then recently in some of the thing's I've been working through, I remembered it and pulled it back out.  Then tonight, I googled it, when lo and behold, I discover that there was more to the reading than what I'd had.  The title of the reading is "Life's Rests" and I'll post it here for you:

LIFE'S RESTS 

BY: JOHN RUSKIN 1819-1900 

   There is no music in a rest, but there is the making of music in it. In our whole life melody the music is broken off here and there by ''rests,'' and we foolishly think we have come to the end of the tune. God sends a time of forced leisure, sickness, disappointed plans, frustrated efforts, and makes a sudden pause in the choral hymn of our lives, and we lament that our voices must be silent, and our part missing in the music which ever goes up to the ear of the Creator. 
   How does the musician read the rest? See him beat the time with unvarying count, and catch up the next note true and steady, as if no breaking place had come between. 
   Not without design does God write the music of our lives. But be it ours to learn the tune, and not be dismayed at the ''rests.'' 
   They are not to be slurred over nor to be omitted, nor to destroy the melody, nor to change the keynote. If we look up, God Himself will beat the time for us. With the eye on Him, we shall strike the next note full and clear. 
--John Ruskin, the greatest Victorian, bar Victoria, was an artist, scientist, poet, environmentalist, philosopher, and the pre-eminent art critic of his time

And, the copy that I have adds the phrase on the very end, "Because we rested."  
To me, this is powerful.  I don't like to "rest".  Sometimes, I think the rest would be a lot easier if I only knew how long it would be.  I don't like the uncertainty of not knowing when the rest will end and the next note come.  

But the most comforting part about the rest?  Knowing that it IS God Himself beating the timing of my life.  Knowing that He knows the music already, and is preparing me to "strike the next note full and clear."

A Prayer

Tonight I happened to be going through some random documents on the computer, and I found this free verse poem I wrote awhile ago, or I guess it's a prayer in poem form.  This still is my prayer, that I would be open to God's searching my heart and that He would purify my heart.  I hope you can identify!

Your thoughts are not my thoughts,

Neither are Your ways my ways.

You are so much higher

As high as heaven is above the earth-

So are Your thoughts and ways above mine.

Father I pray that You

Would search out and know my heart

Try me, Lord, know my soul!

Sound out its depths – leave nothing hidden.

Leave nothing covered that should be known.

Make in me a clean heart;

Make me hear joy and gladness.

That my soul may rejoice

You desire truth in my inmost heart

So please purify me in Your truth. 

Broken Cisterns

Every time I read Jeremiah 2, verse 13 pretty much jumps at me:

“My people have done two evil things.
    They turned away from me,
    and they dug their own water cisterns.
I am the source of living water;

    those cisterns are broken and cannot hold water." [erv]

I have to think, what are the broken cisterns that I dig for myself?  What is it that I use to try to fill the thirst inside rather than the Living Water?  What do I chase after to bring me fulfillment rather than Jesus?  

The last phrase says alot, I think...no matter what our "cisterns" are, they are broken and cannot hold water.  They will never satisfy, because whatever happiness/relief/etc they bring won't last.  It can't last, it will only make us need more, and more, and more in an attempt to fill the emptiness inside.  That's how addictions work.  They might make us feel happy or satisfied or secure, but only for a short time.  Then we need more to get the good feelings again.  That's how the addiction cycle gets stronger every time we go around it, because our needs are really not met, they are only growing with our futile attempts to fill them.  

"I am the source of Living Water."  God is the only way to truly fill us.  It's only in Him that we can find true fulfillment.  He is the only way to true joy and peace.  

Isaiah 55:1 says, 

"All you people who are thirsty, come!
    Here is water for you to drink."

John 4, verses 10b and 14 say, 

“ If you knew, you would have asked me, and I would have given you living water.”

"But anyone who drinks the water I give will never be thirsty again. The water I give people will be like a spring flowing inside them. It will bring them eternal life.”

I don't know about you, but for me, I choose the living water from God.  I don't want to live my life a slave to addictions that only take me in circles and are more binding all the time. I don't want to always have to keep digging more and deeper "cisterns" to try and fulfill the emptiness inside.  I choose to go to the Fountain of Living Water.

O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go

"O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go" has been a favorite song of mine for a while...the lyrics and music together are so beautiful, so majestic, so moving.  And when I learned the story behind the song, I loved it all the more, so I decided to share it here with you. 
"O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go" was written on the evening of [George] Matheson’s sister’s marriage. Years before, he had been engaged, until his fiancée learned that he was going blind—that there was nothing the doctors could do—and she told him that she could not go through life with a blind man. He went blind while studying for the ministry, and his sister had been the one to care for him through the years, but now she was gone. He was now 40, and his sister’s marriage brought a fresh reminder of his own heartbreak. It was in the midst of this circumstance and intense sadness that the Lord gave Matheson this hymn, which he said was written in five minutes. ~Wikipedia

lyrics from Cyber Hymnal

O Love that wilt not let me go,

I rest my weary soul in thee;

I give thee back the life I owe,

That in thine ocean depths its flow

May richer, fuller be.

O light that followest all my way,

I yield my flickering torch to thee;

My heart restores its borrowed ray,

That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day

May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,

I cannot close my heart to thee;

I trace the rainbow through the rain,

And feel the promise is not vain,

That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,

I dare not ask to fly from thee;

I lay in dust life’s glory dead,

And from the ground there blossoms red

Life that shall endless be.

One interesting note about the lyrics--even though the author was blind and would only have memories of seeing colors, in the last two verses it talks about brilliant colors [rainbow, red] that Matheson looked forward to seeing again in Heaven.

Not Forgotten

So last night, in my continuation of the Psalms, I read Psalm 44.  And two different sections I noticed in particular, probably because they're highlighted in my Bible:).

the first section is vv. 5-8

Through You we will push down our enemies;
Through Your name we will trample those who rise up against us.
 For I will not trust in my bow,
Nor shall my sword save me.
 But You have saved us from our enemies,
And have put to shame those who hated us.
 In God we boast all day long,
And praise Your name forever. Selah   

It's never on my own strength that I can have victory over temptation.  It's never our efforts alone that enable us to rise despite the odds.  It's through God's strength.  It's through dependence on Him that we can conquer sin and Satan. 

the second section is vv.  17 & 18

All this has come upon us;
But we have not forgotten You,
Nor have we dealt falsely with Your covenant.
Our heart has not turned back,
Nor have our steps departed from Your way;

In the few verses between these two sections the Psalmist was talking about how it seemed like God had forgotten them and cast them aside.  And then comes verses 17 and 18.  Even though the Psalmist was feeling God-forsaken and forgotten, he says those verses.  He didn't forget God, or turn his back on God, even in the middle of the storm he was in.  Can those verses be true about me?  Will I turn away from God when it seems like He's forgotten me?  

Mourning to Dancing

 Note:  I have been reading through the Psalms lately, and many of them inspire me so much that I want to post about them, so if I continue to blog post about various Psalms, you know why;).

So the other night, I read Psalm 30.  And the last two verses really stuck out to me, partly because they're highlighted in my Bible, and partly just cuz....well, I love them!

Psalm 30:11,12

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
    you have loosed my sackcloth
    and clothed me with gladness,
 that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
    O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!

Mourning into dancing?  Isn't that from one extreme to the other?  YES!  It is!  That's how our God can do it!  He takes our deepest sorrows, pain, and hurt...then guess what He does.  No, you won't have to guess, I'll just tell you, cuz I can't help it--He turns them into joy, beauty, and dancing!  Dancing here is a spontaneous act of uncontrollable joy [source: Talitha's interpretations].  

Our response to this great work of God's is praise and thanksgiving--bubbling out of our hearts for the great work He has done for us.  Know why?  So others can see it, and want it, and seek God because they want it so much!

Please Hear What I'm Not Saying

Today, I happened to look up a poem that I'd read awhile ago, that I feel describes many of us (at least everyone who's like me) pretty well, so I decided to share it with y'all.  Now I've looked it up on Google and I realize that there's many different versions of this poem, they all seem to be good but this is the one I saw first so it's the one I've stuck with so far;).

Please Hear What I'm Not Saying

Don't be fooled by me.

Don't be fooled by the mask I wear.

For I wear a mask.

I wear a thousand masks--

Masks that I'm afraid to take off.

And none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that is second nature with me, but don't be fooled.

I give the impression that I'm secure.

That all is sunny and unruffled with me

Within as well as without.

That confidence is my name,

And coolness is my game.

That the waters are calm,

And that I am in command, that I need no one.

But don't believe it.

Please don't.

My surface may seem smooth,

But my surface is my mask,

My ever varying and ever concealing mask.

Beneath lies no smugness, no coolness, no complacence.

Beneath dwells the real me

In confusion, in fear, in loneliness.

But I hide this.

I don't want anybody to know it.

I panic at the thought of being exposed.

That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind--

A nonchalant, sophisticated facade to help me pretend,

To shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation--

My only salvation, and I know it.

It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself--

From my own self-built prison walls,

From the barriers I so painstakingly erect.

But I don't tell you this.  I don't dare.

I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by love and acceptance.

I'm afraid that you'll think less of me. 

That you'll laugh, and that your laugh will kill me.

I'm afraid that deep down I'm nothing,

That I'm just no good,

And that you'll see, and reject me.

So I play my games, my desperate pretending games.

With a facade of assurance on the outside,

And a trembling child within.

And so begins the parade of masks--

The glittering, but empty parade of masks,

And my life becomes a front.

I idly chatter with you in the smooth tones of surface talk.

I tell you everything that's really nothing--

Nothing of what's crying within me.

So when I'm going through my routine,

Don't be fooled by what I'm saying.

Please listen carefully and try to hear what I am not saying--

What I'd like to be able to say,

What for survival I need to say,

But I can't say.

I dislike the hiding--honestly I do.

I dislike the superficial phony games I'm playing.

I'd really like to be genuine, spontaneous and me.

But you have to help me--

You have to help me by holding out your hand

Even when that's the last thing I seem to want or need.

Each time you are kind and gentle, and encouraging,

Each time you try to understand because you really care,

My heart begins to grow wings--

Very small wings, very feeble wings, but wings.

With your sensitivity and sympathy and power of understanding,

I can make it.

You can breathe life into me.

It will not be easy for you.

A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.

But love is stronger than strong walls--

And therein lies my hope.

Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands,

But with gentle hands--

For a child is very sensitive, and I am a child.

Who am I, you may wonder?

I am someone you know very well.

For I am every man, every woman, every child, every human you meet.

~Anonymous