...or The Interchangeable Nature of "You"
I cannot sleep. You are again, still and forever, my everything, my alpha and omega, my lion, my lamb, my soul. I want only to rejoice in the knowledge of that. To shout from mountain tops that the word was made flesh, that He walked among us, that He still walks with us, right now, right here, a step before us, guiding the way on this, our combined path. You and I. We three.
Sleeping, I am oblivious to everything except the ardent whisper of Christ. But I do not need to sleep for this. My mind buzzes with things I want to say to you. My body hums, a low resonance that stays with me when everything goes... just... right. When you answer my prayers, when you walk that line... and then erase it from the sand. When you hold me. When you carry me. When you told me you loved me. Now nothing can surprise me.
Christ laughs gently, "What did you *expect* me to tell you?"
You tell me, "I'm not alarmist but these are obviously the end times. All is NOT well in Zion..." ...and a lot of people will not be pleased with the knowledge that Christ's divinity is commonplace. He is speaking to me, and you, and the green grocer on the corner, and the Buddhist monk in the mountains, and the tween with neon hair and a Doberman. He is everywhere, in everything, and cannot be categorized, labeled and limited, into the neat, crisp and clean file folder of denomination.
I want to know the real you. That has nothing to do with plane tickets and eye shade or visits to the Holy Land. I don't need the flesh and bone, Lord, I already believe. My faith carries me. She always has and I always hold her hand when it gets dark or when we have to cross the street. I wrote a whole blog entry just to say: reality only occurs when you *get real.* You must never apologize for real. Or did you think, my beginning and end, that your truths were unknown to me? Or strange? Or forbidden? I know how to use Google and how to visit a local church (1919 Huntington, after Milan but if you hit Fletcher, you've gone too far)... and another and a third. Do I impress you as the type of grrl who skips her research? J'ai besoin de pouvoir vous défendre!
Perhaps you think I would run away? When you lay before me the truth, dear Lord, do you think I will run? Or crumble? Or attack? Do you think I will be disappointed? I am exalted! I praise all that you are and all that you are made of. The smallest boson, the most complex equation. The simple sentence, devoid of metaphor, free from lies, in light not shadow. You never have to impress me because you are part of me. How wonderfully has He made you!
Q: Do your people truly believe that Christ's blood alone will not save someone? (Youth Director of Denomination P, California)
A: We do not deny the divine act of Christ, but we have to accept it, believe in Him, receive the Holy Spirit to lead us into all truth, and live faithfully. Only then will the blood of Christ be enough. (Pastor of Denomination M, Venice)
Did you think I would disagree with this? This great big problem that others like to cast like a stone? Or is there something else -- something truly *surprising* in your doctrine (doc~trine, noun, 1. a particular principle, position, or policy taught or advocated) that you're saving for after dinner? And, btw, will there be chai?
The pastor in Venice wrote it and I'll rephrase it: "You will never know one man's doctrine, until you yourself are of that doctrine." (Did you catch the keyword? The one that always kills the buzz for us pokey NTCs?) It's all very straight forward for me:
I am of Christ's doctrine.
And you are of Christ's doctrine. And Jess. And Jenn. And Sha, and Abbie, and all the rest of us who pump their fists in the air and shout: "Yay, God!" Every single one of us are welcome to their principles and guidelines and popes and prophets and hymns and parables. We must each find the path that leads us to personal revelation.
You could argue that, yes, we disagree. The smile that spreads across my face attests to that. The last time we disagreed it was so much messier, wasn't it? This time? Not so much ;) My path is His path is your path. I choose to walk with you, take a stand with you and that fills my heart with joy.
I tried "safe" on for size once, you know? I tried to take my marching orders from the pulpit. I said, "If I could be only what they want, nothing that they don't, how would I be? How would I speak? Gosh... what would I wear?!" I tried. It took a lot of spiritual yoga. You know what? "Safe" doesn't fit me too well. What I feel for you... in my heart... *in my bones*... is so far removed from "safe" I don't even know what to call it. I do believe in scripture it's called salvation.
Dear Lord, lift this joy that shines in my heart to the still-dark sky of these wee hours and gift me with a false dawn (more true than the dawn of science) that is the realization of a companion discovered, of a smile that plays across my lips while you read over my shoulder. While you wrap a strong arm around me and murmur, "You see? I told you, you would not be alone."
Sweet Christ, right now, only you (and NASA satellites) can see me. Dressed for work. In chaps and jeans and riding boots. In my deep red silk blouse and open leather jacket. In my brown skin and brown hair and brown eyes. In my mortal shell that I celebrate. In my mortal mind that dreams divine for you. Laying on the roof top, cold tar long since surrendered its collected heat. You see me, as I am, all that I am, and I surrender myself to you. Fully. Completely. I am your own. I am in your belonging. Come what may. Bring rain or angels. Whispers or shouts. Just to walk this path with you. With both of you. We three.
"I make no demands of anyone who does not believe my history. If I hadn't experienced myself what I have experienced, I wouldn't believe it myself."
Amen.
E.J.
...Because what has no place on the forum *always* belongs in my blog :)
