It’s link-up day and for just a moment I search through the thumbnail pictures expecting to see her’s somewhere near the top, then reality hits and I remember her picture will not be near the top, or the bottom, it won’t be there at all, she has no new words anymore, only those she has left behind. My heart aches afresh, I have missed her so much this past week.
I return later in the day and search again, hoping again all hope, really against all hope. Then I see something. I’ve heard of it before, but I see it and it makes me smile. Five Minute Friday : Kids Edition. I smile as I think of how much she would have loved that, loved to have read and laughed over the funny, wise, free words of kids. How she would have included them in her community, would have soaked up lessons from them, whilst at the same time encouraging and teaching them so much without even trying.
I have missed her incredibly this week, I don’t know why particularly this week I have missed her. Maybe it is because I’m tired and my pain levels are high and I know she would have something to say into that, she would understand. Maybe it’s because I’ve had to try hard to choose joy the past few days, and I wish she was there to remind me how. Mainly I think it is because she was truly unique, truly special, and nothing quite fits the gap she left.
So I remember. I remember her words, I remember what she taught me, I remember how she blessed me, I remember how she loved, I remember how she trusted, I remember how she chose joy, I remember how she praised, I remember how she gave out, I remember.
I remember Sara, I remember Gitz.
Time for Five-Minute Friday, which seems all I have time for these days! Hope over to Lisa-Jo’s place if you want to know more, and why not join in?
I’ve been thinking about worship a lot recently. We call our singing worship. When we say worship that’s what most of us would think of straight away. Our singing, though, it seems to me is often the most pathetic form of worship. We stand, or sit, together in that room, singing words on a screen, letting them roll off our tongues, and feeling good because everyone else is doing the same. We lift our hands high to show we really mean it, and we tell of how much we love God, the Christ. In that room surrounded by others, maybe 10, maybe 1000, we do mean it. We love Yahweh, the God who created us, saved us, loves us, helps us. We look at the lives of those surrounding us, and we remember the stories, the ways in which God has intervened, sustained, held on; and we praise and we love.
That service where we are safe, surrounded by a Christian bubble, the sound of other people singing along with us is quiet, and we’re left alone in the world. Singing the tune of love alone, while others curse, and tear down, and hate. Now we have to love because we really love, not because we’re caught up in the bubble. Our love has to be more than a sweet song, it has to be actions.
Our worship, our adoration of God needs to be more than a song. It needs to be my Monday morning joy as the alarm rings so early to start another week; and my Tuesday coffee break compassion as I pass by that homeless guy; and my Wednesday afternoon forgiveness as my boss expects me to stay late, again, without a please or a thank you; and my Thursday evening move to action as I see the child beaten by his mother; and my Friday late night resolve to be pure as others go out drinking and having sex; and my Saturday day off selflessness and serving, instead of claiming my time all for myself. If my worship can be all that, if my week can consist of loving God in my actions of the everyday, if my hours shout out my love of God, THEN, then, on Sunday, when I come into His house, and I lift my hands, and I sing out those words, I sing with commitment, I sing not because of the bubble, but because I am truly in love, I sing knowing my song will ring out once I’ve walked out the door and the darkness surrounds. Then my worship is full.
*I think corporate sung worship is great, please don’t get me wrong.
I’m laying there trying to remember. Placing shards of memories next to each other, trying them out until I find a fit for this puzzle and the whole thing can start to take shape, take meaning. I grapple for understanding, desperate to find the cord that is wrapped so tightly around me that I may be able to loose it and be free. I fight hard to know what it is all about, I search frantically to find Him there, I shift my gaze anxiously trying to see the memories from His perspective.
I try, I grapple, I fight, I search, I shift; and still there is no peace in the midst of the storm. Still I cannot hear His voice above the thunder and rain. Still I cannot see his face amongst the black clouds and lightening.
There is one more hope, I take out His letter to me, His word, I flip through the many pages and stop letting the book fall open. My eyes land on one sentence.
“If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples. You will know the truth and the truth will set you free.”*
The truth will set me free; yes it is true, he has confirmed it. Yet I know not the truth, I cannot place it together. He says that to get the truth I must be His follower, His disciple, to be his disciple means to remain in His word, to be constantly living in His word, to have it written on my heart.
I make a mental note to read this letter, this book, His word, more often.