Perishable

Voicemail from yesterday: “Perishable Package. Please pick it up at your earliest convenience.” 

This is what I’ve been thinking about. 

(fair warning--as usual, most likely overthetop : })

A couple of things—I don’t even like flowers all that much—I can enjoy them and revel in nature and even think they brighten a home, but spending money on sappy gifts and such never has appealed to me. Even so, I had a smile from deep within on my face as I walked away from the campus post office with my “perishable package.” I was eversoblessed by my father (Eric Ness) who reminds me of my heavenly Father. My dad remembered me and reminded me of his love for me as his daughter by sending me cyclamen with a note on Valentine’s Day as he has for so many years! Calls to mind: How deep the Father’s love for us…, consistency and commitment, memory, surprise, delight, sweetness, grace, gift, cherish, life, brevity and faithfulness.

Even in our fallen, dying selves, the Lord clothes and cares for the vainglory of the flowers (Mtt. 6, Lk. 12). It’s ironic that Dr. Ness sent the cyclamen to his daughter who is a Swedish flower, who has been meditating on the verse that stuck out to me in upper elementary school at LWBC “All people are like grass, and all their glory and faithfulness is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fall, because the breath of the Lord blows on them, (perishable packages), but the word of the Lord our God endures forever” (Is. 40 and 1 Peter 1). The passage in Isaiah is reminding the people of God’s sovereignty and his faithfulness to his people, and Peter is reminding us that we can now live out sincere love (apt for Valentine’s Day or single’s awareness day) because we can “love one another deeply, from the heart” now that we are not only of perishable seed, but “imperishable through the living and enduring word of God!”                           

In reflecting on my given name and more so on the reminder of the ancients in the faith who called on the name of the LORD. I can quickly forget the power in the name of Jesus, the presence of Jehovah, the truth of Adonai, all of who He is in His glory and my fallenness as one of the flowers of the field, Linnea. Gentle flower. I miss that mark in the sense that I struggle with gentleness in word and deed, any evidence thereof is by the mercy and grace of the Holy Spirit.  I live up to my name in the sense that I am here today and gone tomorrow, sometimes beautiful in the essence of who I was created to be, known from before my time (Ps. 139) and given a place (1 Jn. 3:1), altogether perishing and being made new. Struck by paradox and finitude in the wake of Ash Wednesday and a general awareness of my shortcomings and the beauty that I am part of.   

Second thing—IV (the 5 yr-old in the family I’ve been babysitting for over the past few years--such a challenge and gift!), says to me today, “Hey Linnea, you know why I didn’t want to play with ya on Wednesday? It was because of your forehead. I haven’t been to church in a while, so I haven’t really seen that stuff. …It was ashes? Oh, it looked kinda like hair. It was only a little terrifying.” (He had managed to keep his eyes mostly on the ground as he gave me a high-five and headed upstairs Wed.) His 1 ½ year-old brother’s reaction on Wednesday was a little bit of hesitancy, but also curiosity, in pointing and soon overcoming and playing like normal with me.

Having ashes on my forehead on Wednesday was a reminder of what we should/do look like to the world—a bit strange and recognizable, mourning the brokenness and praying hosanna, His kingdom come only through the Messiah. Yet, we become pretty normal and some don’t even notice, and there is a beauty to questioning and also to accepting that I learn from hanging out and taking care of these kids.

I was privileged to have some good conversation with Amber,* (the mom) about teaching children about sin and the complexity of the Lenten season, and IV and I had some careful conversation about the 40 days before Easter and the reminders of death and sad and bad things in the world while hoping for Jesus.

I’m stuck on our mortality in a different way than I was as a third grader overly solemn about dying (thought I might at least die a hero’s death at that time : }). More and more aware of the brevity and urgency of life, but not in the helter-skelter panic or competition nor quite epicurean. Urgency and brevity in the sense that we need to be purposeful, pursuing life, being ministers of reconciliation, reveling in moments of glory, administering healing and peace, challenging with Truth, laughing and not taking ourselves too seriously, celebrating God’s abundant goodness, crying real tears, asking hard questions and actually taking action…

Sometimes this will look like slowing down. Sometimes this will be playing tough and being courageous. Sometimes this will be stepping up and persevering. I definitely would still give myself a floundering grade at life, but I’m coming alive by dying again, I think. Not my own.

Came to mind and won’t leave…

“Two little lines I heard one day, 
Traveling along life’s busy way; 
Bringing conviction to my heart, 
And from my mind would not depart; 
Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, yes only one, 
Soon will its fleeting hours be done; 
Then, in ‘that day’ my Lord to meet, 
And stand before His Judgement seat; 
Only one life,’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, the still small voice, 
Gently pleads for a better choice 
Bidding me selfish aims to leave, 
And to God’s holy will to cleave; 
Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, a few brief years, 
Each with its burdens, hopes, and fears; 
Each with its clays I must fulfill, 
living for self or in His will; 
Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

When this bright world would tempt me sore, 
When Satan would a victory score; 
When self would seek to have its way, 
Then help me Lord with joy to say; 
Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Give me Father, a purpose deep, 
In joy or sorrow Thy word to keep; 
Faithful and true what e’er the strife, 
Pleasing Thee in my daily life; 
Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Oh let my love with fervor burn, 
And from the world now let me turn; 
Living for Thee, and Thee alone, 
Bringing Thee pleasure on Thy throne; 
Only one life, “twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, yes only one, 
Now let me say,”Thy will be done”; 
And when at last I’ll hear the call, 
I know I’ll say “twas worth it all”;(vale la pena) 
Only one life,’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last. ”

Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last. 
And when I am dying, how happy I’ll be, 
If the lamp of my life has been burned out for Thee.”

--C.T. Studd

Unsure of where this takes me, but willing to sit and soak for a bit. Turning inward, to Him. If Christ came, lived, suffered, died, rose, and intercedes, I certainly can take a little time to think and maybe mourn and move.

Flour-dusted laptop

Flour-dusted laptop

Little vignette of Sunday morning: I want to laugh or cry, so I tell B that either she or Em should have seen me because it would have been funnier--a moment very typical of me....

This morning I got up at the same time as Emily and whipped up another adaptation of gluten-free coconut banana bread (it's kind of a theme and variation experiment I try from time to time for the bungalow). When I got back from a run, B had taken it out of the oven for me. 

I went to take a look and of course noticed what wasn't right about the scene--the burnt spices on the stove-top range next to the banana bread, so I set about fixing that minor problem. 
In order to clean the stove, I had to scootch the pan of still-warm banana bread over. 

I thought to myself--this is a little precarious and will probably fall, so maybe I should reconsider, readjust, pause for a second (reminiscent of the time I tried to bike and change gears with coffee in hand)....
but I brushed that thought away and set to scrubbing, unsuccessful in my attempts at freeing the range from the crusty spice spill, but successful in, yep, you guessed it, feeling my elbow bump the tea kettle which bumped the pan, knocking the banana bread to the floor, producing a *gasp* and *sigh* from me as the bread flew out from the middle and some snuck into Em's Toms for Sadie Mae to lick up promptly. 
I quickly knelt to salvage what I could, abandoned the hopeless stove-top for the time being, and managed to smile, shake my head, and get a clump to go with my coffee.  


These little moments of clumsiness are all-too-common for me in my hurried, have to get it done, think of something and then something else frantic antics. I tend to procrastinate (to justify  my less-than perfect efforts to my perfectionistic-self), wait for the pressure of crunch time, then burst with focus to the finish. It's a weird, yet normal, game I play. 

I used to get extremely upset over the minor mishaps like the banana (coco)nut bread explosion (also a tasty heart-attack at Egglectic). I am learning to laugh at myself and live in the messiness of life. This does not mean I'm anti-cleaning, but I do let the dishes go undone for a few hours at times or refrain from cleaning the bathroom or organizing my room every time I get stressed. Rather, I recognize more and more that things like community and wholeness that we so often throw out as desirable cliches are actually quite grueling and not so put-together as I might like.

Now, it seems minor, and it is, but moments like the banana bread--the clumsy dropping things, running into walls and being late and saying stupid things are reminders of my imperfection and the smallness of my life and the courage it takes to laugh and to keep walking and still present the banana bread to Blanche or my ideas to a class or myself to my friends.

The places God calls us to, whether it be tribal Africa, the mountains of Nepal, the slums of India, the ghettos of Chicago or the kitchen of our homes, are actually quite dangerous. We have to face fears, we are light from the True Light piercing darkness. 

One take-away I'm seeing is that I need a greater awareness. Not only an awareness of my body that could have been helped by dance as a child, but also an awareness of what's really going on, of bigger battles, of what I'm called to in the moment and the future, of the bigger picture, etc. This takes slowing down sometimes to stop, look, and listen before crossing the street. 

Simplify. Simplifying fractions in elementary school-loved it. Simplifying my life so that I can't be so dramatic or running helter-skelter, not so sure. Simplifying complex, inter-connected thoughts and realities of the world and my own life--seemingly impossible. So, I'm gonna give that a shot through the power at work within me, outside of myself. I'm not saying this experiment is going to change my life and prest-o-change-o, I'm the image of perfection. We already have one of those. I'm being renewed day by day. 

As we sang in that kids musical -- It's gonna get rough. So you'd better wise-up

A few of my goals in this vein--not the striving kind, nor the revolutionary idea kind: Try being early a few times. Get 7-9 hours of sleep. Plan fewer people appointments each day. Eat specific foods and do specific exercises (which implies not doing other things). Answer people's questions. Accept and give compliments. One day a week= one thing at a time. Pray in the Word each morning not getting up to do things intermittently.