Give Me Ears to Hear, Eyes to See, a Heart to Love

"Give me ears to hear, eyes to see..."

That's what I was thinking on the board walk at Blue Springs State Park.

I have only a half an hour, not nearly enough time for the extended exploring that I crave. 

I had been visiting with friends in Deltona, 45 minutes from my house, all afternoon. I would be meeting my daughter and her fiance a little later closer to home. Since I was still in Deltona, I wanted to squeeze in a little natural beauty when I could. It's kind of my thing: making the most of where I am when I'm there, not knowing when I'll be that way again.

I park my van and try to find a trail. Right next to the parking lot, I hear rustling. I turn to see an armadillo snuffling in the dirt for food. He (or she?) lets me quietly approach. 

After a few minutes of wandering, I find a boardwalk overlooking the river. Motion catches my eye. Can you see the squirrel peering around the tree? So elusive, I can only snap a dozen photos and hope one would find its focus.

Now can you see?

While trying to capture the squirrel with my lens, another swooshing sound piques my attention. The camouflaged owl perches on the branch, swiveling head to and fro, capturing the surroundings, yet seemingly oblivious to the potential dinner of squirrel. Must not be hungry?

Further down the boardwalk, a rotted and maybe burned out tree juts up.

What entire little worlds of insects and other tiny  animals dwell and thrive in what seems to be debris to me?

I peer down into the water. I see a long gray fish, but it barely appears on my camera. I snap the photo anyway. So much we don't clearly see beneath the surface at first glance.

Editing at home, adjusting the light, clarifying... Here it is.

This is better than the alligator. I see just the tip of the snout gliding along the surface of the water. Just the tip of the snout, but it is there, a silent witness to all that lurks beneath. There is always more than we see. Always. At one point the alligator turns, this time with only two eyes visible, staring right at me.

Blue Springs is famous for manatees, so I hope against hope to see one swimming, but no.... Then again? A mosaic manatee, beauty crafted from broken pieces.

The views from the boardwalk are beautiful, even if only for such a brief time. I am still trying to drink it all in. My motto: "Fill your soul with all good things, and let the beauty pour forth."

To fill the soul, we first need to notice.

Ears to hear? Bird song! I hit the video icon and slowly swivel to and fro to capture the music in the trees. Then I scurry back to my van because I have places to go, people to see. 

It isn't until I listen to the video later that I realize I must have hit the slo-mo instead. The first few seconds I hear cheerful chirping, and then... It's spooky. Weird. Intimidating. I think of how just this change of speed, or perception, makes all the difference in the atmosphere.

I had already been thinking back to my afternoon as I'd been ambling along the river. I had already been praying, "Give me ears to hear, eyes to see," knowing it wasn't just for the beauty around me.

It was for the broken, too. The world we hear as bird song may be to them a very scary place full of traumatic memories for those who have experienced domestic abuse, sexual abuse, or spiritual abuse. Someone has been messing with their mind, their soul, their core identity, and even their perception of God. They don't know what to think or who to believe. They don't know where to turn. It's not safe out there.

And this was once the case for one of the friends I had been visiting. I'd like to introduce you to her.

Valerie is a home schooling mother of 11. She lives in Wisconsin but was in Florida visiting family. I met her on Facebook first, then in person last year. She is a domestic violence advocate, because she is first of all a survivor. Her family has suffered horrifically, first at the hands of the one who abused them for decades, and then at the hands of their church, which shunned her for taking action to protecting her children and herself.

Valerie and our other friends and I spent that afternoon talking about advocating for those who have abused in various ways within churches and families. We agreed that we need to learn to notice when others are suffering, to pick up on the subtle little clues they might not readily admit. We must pay attention, because it's not always obvious. And then we must be there, with emotional and spiritual and practical support. Tragically, many churches are aware that something is wrong, but choose to either turn a blind eye and shove it under the carpet, or to add insult to injury by blaming, shaming, and pressuring the victim. They must learn to love well and not spout off ignorant rhetoric. I still need to learn to do that, too.

If you know me well, you know that this attentive advocacy is what I have been called to do as a lifetime pursuit. It's one reason I blog about spiritual and domestic abuse here at Watch the Shepherd, one reason I'm a student at Asbury Seminary, one reason why I'm a presence on Facebook (whether in public or in advocacy groups), and one reason I started the Empowering Christian Women Facebook page. 

Not everyone will understand this or appreciate it. I don't care. I'm here for the hidden ones. One by one. It spreads. Ripple effect and all.

"Give me ears to hear, eyes to see, a heart to love." 

Friends, I plead with you: Listen to the words that others are saying, and the words they aren't saying. Hear the stress in the voice, the whimper, the awkward pause, the sighs. Watch the body language, the facial expressions, the deflected glance. Keep an eye out for bruises, scratches, other unexplained injuries. Pay attention to their texts, their emails, their social media. The clues may be there. It's up to you to notice. It's up to you to care.

What to do? Be gentle. Be trustworthy. Be patient. Be safe. Be vulnerable about your own story, as appropriate. Be involved. Not nosy. Not intrusive. Not bossy. Not gossiping. Not judging or shaming or blaming.

Listen well. Listen again. Listen. Love listens.

Love well. Love with words. Love with deeds. Love again. Love always.

Let me know if you need help. I can connect you with information and support. You can also check out my resource page here: Domestic Violence. It has links to my own articles, as well as to other web sites. Here are several blog posts to get you started:

• Abigail's Story: Responses to Domestic Violence
• PTSD: Pain that Keeps on Giving While We Go on with Living
• Recognizing Pervasive, Poisonous Power in Marriage
• Five Things Home School Moms Should Know About Abusive Marriages
• The Bad Boy and the Angel
• Mara's Story: Anger After Abuse
• Why Couples Counseling is Not Recommended for Abusive Marriages, Even Christian Ones
• Psychological Socialism: Manipulating through Equalizing Blame
• When Abuse Leads to Cynicism
• Bonding and Bondage in Abusive Relationships

Here's some music for you: "Give Me Your Eyes" by Brandon Heath.

All the Way My Savior Leads Me (Strength in Hymn)

"All the Way My Savior Leads Me"

Fanny Crosby

All the way my Savior leads me,

What have I to ask beside?

Can I doubt His tender mercy,

Who through life has been my Guide?

Heav’nly peace, divinest comfort,

Here by faith in Him to dwell!

For I know, whate’er befall me,

Jesus doeth all things well;

For I know, whate’er befall me,

Jesus doeth all things well.

All the way my Savior leads me,

Cheers each winding path I tread,

Gives me grace for every trial,

Feeds me with the living Bread.

Though my weary steps may falter

And my soul athirst may be,

Gushing from the Rock before me,

Lo! A spring of joy I see;

Gushing from the Rock before me,

Lo! A spring of joy I see.

All the way my Savior leads me,

Oh, the fullness of His love!

Perfect rest to me is promised

In my Father’s house above.

When my spirit, clothed immortal,

Wings its flight to realms of day

This my song through endless ages:

Jesus led me all the way;

This my song through endless ages:

Jesus led me all the way.

About This Hymn:

This hymn was written by Fanny Crosby (1820-1915), who became blind when she was six weeks old due to a doctor's error. She wrote this hymn as a response of a curious incident of God’s providence. You can read more here: Fanny Crosby and the Story Behind the Song “All the Way My Savior Leads Me”. Fanny wrote several thousand hymns, many under pseudonyms. I remember reading her biography many years ago. She didn’t have an easy life. You can read more about her here:

• Fanny Crosby (Wholesome Words)
• Fanny Crosby (Britannica)
• The Life and Ministry of Frances Jane Crosby
• Fanny Crosby (FamPeople) - this is the most compete article by far! I haven’t even finished reading it.

Why I Chose This Hymn:

I had been musing lately on how God has led me through the nearly 43 years I have been a Christian believer. I have so many stories tucked away in my memory of odd little circumstances which set into motion long reaching ripple effects leading to huge changes in my direction. (More on that later.) So I muse and I’m amused.

Anyway, the title to this hymn came to mind during my ponderings, which is unusual since I didn’t even recognize the lyrics nor the melody when I looked it up on YouTube. (The video is at the bottom of this post.)

Reading the words “Jesus doeth all things well” at the end of the first stanza reminds me of the famous words, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well” written by Julian of Norwich in her book Revelations of Divine Love. Julian was a medieval anchoress, a woman who chose to withdraw from public life to consecrate herself to a solitary life of prayer and devotion. She literally lived in a cell attached to a church, St. Julian’s, from which she took her name. I’m not planning to follow her footsteps in that, I assure you. However, I am preparing for some sort of ministry, the form of which I do not yet know. To that end, I am currently a student at Asbury Theological Seminary’s Orlando campus, and last semester I wrote a Primary Source Analysis (PSA) paper on Julian’s work for my Church History 1 class. You can read it here: Revelations of Divine Love.

The story of how I ended up at seminary is one example of God’s curious way of leading me. It involved:

• a lifelong desire to be educated for ministry
• a conversation with my mother about grad school several years ago before she passed away
• a journal entry specifically mentioning Asbury Seminary even though I could not attend then
• assorted family crises
• ministry among other women in crisis
• a lot of blogging about church abuse issues
• the resulting FB friendship with a woman who blogs about the same topics on the opposite side of the country
• that new friend’s Facebook post about the Christians for Biblical Equality conference she was attending in my city
• a mutual FB friend (whom I had also not yet met in person) offering a scholarship so I could attend that conference
• meeting several Methodist women at the CBE conference
• my grandson’s rescheduled birthday party (the Sunday-morning-several-weeks-late timing of which caused me to visit a Methodist church’s early service since it was my late mother’s birthday and she had been born into a Methodist family and I had admired the Methodist women I had met at the CBE conference)
• running into an old friend at that Methodist church (whom I had met when we worked for the same school years ago)
• attending her Lectio Divina Bible study, and hearing her talk about her Inductive Bible Study class at seminary (a conversation which made me drool)
• my 2018 "one word" Focus
• and several key shifts in my own family circumstances.

And that’s just a tiny sample of the story. There is much more to it, but I don’t want to write a book here.  And all the way my Savior leads me. That much I know, even though I don’t always know what’s next on the agenda. Life is quite an adventure. I can trust God to be with me every step of the way. And then I look back and laugh.

Related links? Sure thing!

• This Mom Starts a New Chapter
• Arise (One Word)
• Sweet Sunday Morning in Geneve (Europe #5) - an amusing story of being in the right place at the right time
• The Power of a Christian Woman's Voice
• A Vision of Mother-Life (A Poem)
• Strength in Hymn index
• Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us
• Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah
• Mutual by Design 2017 Christians for Biblical Equality Conference
• The Puritans, The Quakers, and Little Old Me (Reflections on A Measure of Light) - many generations of God's leading in my family history
• Pilgrimage and Jubilee

The Photos in this Post: 

The photos in this post are from my visit to the Franciscan Monastery of the Holy Land in America in Washington, D.C. last fall. I had wanted to go back to the National Cathedral the last time I visited family in Maryland. (See my poem God of Joy, I See Thee for photos of my first visit in 2017.) My nephew Doug also loves the cathedral and offered to take me. When we were driving home, I found out he had plotted a surprise detour to see the monastery too. He knew I would enjoy it, and I certainly did! I love this kind of adventure. You can see more about that here: My Birthday Weekend in Maryland. 

Oh, all that for one hymn post! You never know what you're going to get when you read my blogs!

Blessings,
Virginia

Soul Musings from an Old Journal

God

Truth
Change

Beauty

Questioning

Contemplation

Today is Holy Saturday, the day before Easter. I've been scurrying around getting ready for my adult children and my grandchildren to come over for dinner tomorrow, joining the ones who still live here. While I was tidying up the house, I could hear my heart telling me to slow down and tend to my spirit. So I did. 

I retreated to the blue table in my bedroom -- where I do my best reading and writing -- and finished the last three chapters of Booked: Literature in the Soul of Me by Karen Swallow Prior. I could feel my own soul move at the words in her memoir; I'm glad I took the time to read and reflect. I still had stuff to do, though, so I got up and went back to cleaning and checking on food supplies. Where did I put those bags of frozen Alfredo fettuccine for our Italian buffet? But again, I felt that insistent inner tug to go back and settle my heart. I decided to pull out a journal and write, but first I picked up an old journal and read. I'm glad I did. It was like a buffet for the soul.

These lightly edited excerpts of several journal entries are from a two year period quite a while back. I have interspersed them with recent photos from a foggy morning at a local pond.

(The first entry here was apparently prompted by something I had read on a home school blog about teaching children about God.)

I have been questioning, and in some ways recoiling from, much of what I had built my life upon for 25 years. There is, of course, a necessary drawing back to evaluate. We must not accept anything blindly, no matter what it is. Truth is to be examined; the real thing is solid enough to hold up to scrutiny. And yet, I cannot put myself above truth. We must submit to truth, just as much as we can stand on it. It is not there for us to merely look at, but to live, because there is a moral force, God, who put it there for that purpose. To reject Truth (mentally) or to rebel against it (practically) is a choice - and a sin - against God. 

The first question then, is not about teaching children, but about who God is. What is his nature? And after the nature of God, what of the nature of mankind? God is good. That is the fundamental essence of his character. 

:::

What helps me to hold onto faith are two things: seeing God as the Creator of a beautiful creation (including and especially mankind) and the life of Jesus. Humanly thinking, I am touched by people who live and create artfully -- whether visual or written or musical or whatever -- to reflect spiritual depth and not just doctrinal exactness. There is beauty in the gospels, the poets, the clouds. Mirth and exuberance help, but so do solitude and reflection. I find some sanity and sustenance for the soul. Thankful also for Bishop William Frey's book, The Dance of Hope, which helped me see through the creation lens, not just the fall and redemption. There is dignity in being human - fearfully and wonderfully made - the crowning act of creation. 

:::

I just don't know how to reconcile all of what I know and experience in my heart and mind; so much seems paradoxical. I shouldn't feel bad about this, though. This is the full-time livelihood of countless theologians and philosophers. Who am I to master all of the mysteries all of a sudden? It is also very hard to wrap myself around how to integrate the ideals and theories into daily life. I love beauty, yet there is this messy house. I yearn for kindness and grace, but then I get angry with the stubbornness and thoughtlessness of others.

:::

I started reading Chesterton's Orthodoxy on Kindle today and find it witty and profound. I like his quotes on poets, mysticism, and sanity. Only the madman thinks in a tight, small circle. The truly reasonable one expands and thinks beyond, and can even embrace apparent contradictions. I think I see that in some people around me: the tendency to get stuck or fixated on a thought, so that every sensibility must fit in tidily with that or be rejected out of hand. Going in circles, circles, like on a British roundabout, when it is high time to exit to a side street, get on with life, and see the bigger world. A similar picture that comes to mind is of oxen attached to a radial bar with no other place to go, trudging round and round on the same rutted path, turning the cogs in bondage. But I am being a cynic here. Perhaps the remedy for all our souls, if we are to bear breaking free of the endless circular trajectory, is the gentle question, "What if?"

:::

I sometimes feel guilty for not being as devout, settled, and conservative as I used to be. I don't fit into the pious paradigm that I clung to for so long. I am trying to stay true, trying to remain in "the pale of orthodoxy" - but I am finding that circle being enlarged in my mind. I see real people, real stories, not statistics nor villains. 

So many things sound so pious, especially when couched in self-effacing phrases. We still have to be Bereans, even if it means cutting through misguided piety into common sense and real reasoning.

:::

I was reading from the book Studying Poetry. It might seem I have no good reason for that, that it is unessential, and this is probably true. But the point is to stimulate and stretch the brain to make it fit, not just to understand poetry, but to understand life. This is perhaps not unlike the connection between listening to classical music and boosting math skills, or working through algebra and finding it strengthen your deductive/logical skills for more general problem solving. I think the same is true of playing solitaire digitally rather than with paper cards. There is so much to be learned about life from the simple strategies. I can go back and try something a different way. I can shift and shuffle and predict. I can ask for a hint. I can follow a trail for a little while, go in reverse, try a different one, and then compare the profitability of each. I can take a guess. I can realize that the "logical" move immediately at hand may not be the one that wins the game, that I may need to wait for the counter-intuitive move. Sometimes I need to put a card up on the ace stack knowing I will pull it down again later. I see the relevance of this to life, that some things are not hard and fast, and you have to experiment and try things differently while still employing the basic strategies. Open the mind. Think it through. Try it out. Try it again. Quite philosophical, I say.

:::

I wish I could be a full-time contemplative -- without the daily distractions and demands of life -- and be free to travel, explore, experience. Yet it is as Luci Shaw reminds me in Breath for the Bones: a great poet is "tied down to earth" and "exhibits an understanding of the daily concerns of common humanity."  She notes that C.S. Lewis helped Mrs. Moore make jam and scrub floors. The poetry is made of daily life, which keeps it authentic and grounded.

:::

Fragments of dreams from morning slumbers:

- a small blonde-haired child (not mine, but one who lived where I was visiting) up on my lap, looking at a book, answering questions about the pictures, comforted by my presence.

- unexpected visitors, old friends not seen in ages, bringing bags of Chex Mix because I had nothing to offer by way of hospitality.

- trying to throw away trash in a public dumpster, but underneath the top layer in my can were my dirty linens, which had somehow gone in with the trash and had to be fished out, while a new friend watched, understanding.

Common dream theme here: acceptance and grace, even though I was an "other" - either a stranger or one who apparently fell short.

:::

Reading in Luke, I notice how simple Jesus is, so unlike the legalists and the celebrity preachers. What words he had for the Pharisees! But to folk like me: Believe. Repent. Love God. Love others. Listen. Pray. Give. Forgive. Remember. Follow. Obey. Bless. Shine. Do to others what you would have them do to you. Serve. Watch. Rejoice. Stand firm. Show mercy. Understand. Worship. Go in peace. Share the good news. Welcome. Bring the kids.

:::

"Our little systems have their day,
They have their day and cease to be,
They are but broken lights of Thee,
And Thou, O Lord, art more than they."
~~~ Tennyson

"I say that we are wound with mercy round and round -- as with air." Gerard Manley Hopkins

"It is better to avoid God, we reason, than to face his fury... We end up hiding from the one who longs to heal us." James Bryan Smith in Embracing the Love of God

We care. He cures. 

Wonder. Imagine. Savor.

:::

One entry near the end of this particular journal made me laugh with delight:

"I am trying to envision the years to come. More education? A master's degree in Christian counseling? Asbury? Time is running short, though. I'm 50! I want to come into my own, not just tag along."

I wrote that several years ago, but then put it out of my mind for the longest time. I forgot I even wrote that, though I remember a similar discussion with my late mother over a year earlier. I'm even older now, but I finally applied to Asbury Theological Seminary last month, and my interview for entrance into the counseling department is this Thursday. Amazing and amusing what I find when I read old journals! 

Am I too old to start graduate level study of theology and counseling? I have been a Christian believer for nearly 42 years. As far as topics of study go, theology has always been my first love since I was a young teen. Close behind it has been humanity: how to love and understand and even guide others well. My beliefs (orthodoxy) and practices (orthopraxy) and emotions (orthopathy) have changed quite a bit as I have hopefully matured from an overzealous teen to a mellowed grandmother. My decades as a believer, though often so challenging, have served me well. I guess I'm not too old after all. I just needed the extra perspective.

P.S. Friends who have encouraged me on this journey toward seminary have also urged me to return to sharing my writing more. This blog post is one small attempt at that. I also just received, and look forward to reading, Vinita Hampton Wright's book The Art of Spiritual Writing: How to Craft Prose That Engages and Inspires Your Readers.  

Blessings,
Virginia