The Alluring God

... because sometimes we ~ I ~ need reminding ...

by Hillary McFarland

he Word speaks: Let there be light.
The earth crowns, the will of God who says let there be life, and we crown into light.
     Fresh and new and shy, our baby hands clutch mama-skirts to hide when others look at us. But soon we run, we run around like wild things who worry not what others think; we climb trees while hair frizzes a golden halo and our cheeks blush like apples and our toes peek through sneakers. But we don't mind because we are six or nine and we sing at the top of our lungs that the hills are alive with the sound of music, and they are ...

     Years collect like memories, like photographs; we grow fifteen and shy while hills grow quiet. Hearts blush like maples in fall, but every hair is in place and hands smooth our own skirts and we hide behind trees instead of perching in them.
     We grow old in soul. Melody is memory as feet shuffle dust and we strain to hear and see the One who spoke the dark :: light, who breathed into lungs the light of life. We are tired and hungry; we ache, and our face is etched with the fine tip of years. Our heart is carved up and arms are weary and why do we even try? 

The Unabandoned Cross

One of my favorite books is “The Cost of Discipleship” written by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. It's been a while, but while recently musing the calling of God I read the following passage:

. . . Grace is costly because it compels a man to submit to the yoke of Christ and follow him; it is grace because Jesus says: “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
     On two separate occasions Peter received the call, “Follow me.” It was the first and last word Jesus spoke to his disciple (Mark 1.17; John 21.22). A whole life lies between these two calls. The first occasion was by the lake of Gennesareth, when Peter left his nets and his craft and followed Jesus at his word. The second occasion is when the Risen Lord finds him back again at his old trade. Once again it is by the lake of Gennesareth, and once again the call is: “Follow me.” Between the two calls lay a whole life of discipleship in the following of Christ. Half-way between them comes Peter's confession, when he acknowledged Jesus as the Christ of God. ~ The Cost of Discipleship, Costly Grace

He who is called the Man of Sorrows had a calling of His own.

My Hiding Place

Coffee’s rumble draws me awake. I can hear it beyond the door, waiting, steaming and fresh, for eager cups. I stretch my arms, blink in the sun. It is morning now—morning, when mercies are new. Even as a little girl, I need new mercy like mommy needs her coffee.

     Although I don’t know what it is, exactly, I think about it sometimes when I run down the hill, run away to my sanctuary. It nestles, my nook under the trees, cozy and waiting, warm and soft from summer. It’s important to have a place when you’re little, you know, a spot all your own where you can curl up and let the forest murmur against your cheeks. A place where you can think about things—deep things, the mysteries of life and pain—while the zephyr wraps you up in sheets and the sun tucks you in.

     They say mercies are new in the morning. I don’t know about that. I don’t know mercy but I do know hell, and it lurks in the shadows of dawn and noon and night. It haunts me when I’m seven and seventeen and twenty-seven, clutching at my heels, waiting for me to fall. It pricks me when I fail, a thousand times, to be the gentle sister, the pleasing daughter, the loving woman God wants me to be. It suffocates me as I plan my death, and I can see it, see hell waiting, and I stay alive and afraid for another morning. A thousand haunted mornings . . .

I am guest posting at Madabella today . . . please join me!