When the lights went out

Just before communion in the humble church I attend, the power quit.

We'd been inundated for several days with storm after storm of wintry blasts from the South Pole...thunder and lightning, hail and rain, wind and stronger wind. Temperatures hovered around the 40s during the day and 30s at night.

On the way to church that morning, my husband and I marveled at how much standing water there was, in a land plagued with drought the last 15 or more years. Creeks flooded, and paddocks looked like grass-fringed lakes with ducks circling and flapping in the frigid air while sheep sought higher ground.

As we entered the 150-year-old town hall in Buninyong where our little Baptist congregation meets, I noticed everyone was rugged up in wooly scarves and warm winter coats. This time last year we celebrated the arrival of warm weather, constant sunshine, and blooming flowers. Steve and I found a seat in the rear of the hall with our backs next to heat emanating from ancient radiators shaped like curvy Christmas candy painted forest green.

We settled in, sang some hymns and modern songs, the offering was taken, and then it was time to remember Jesus' sacrifice, as scripture tells us to. The body broken for me, the blood shed to cleanse my sins and make a way for me to be in God's presence now, and forever.

Then darkness descended in fits and starts as overhead bulbs flickered on and off. The high windows near the ceiling in the old-fashioned building are painted, so no light came in once darkness won the fight for light. Our pastor's wife had a penlight so an elder leading that part of the service could read his Bible out loud, and so I could take my turn at the pulpit reading Bible verses out loud that our pastor had chosen to go with his sermon.

I thought the topic he'd chosen was apt, in light of losing power and light. He spoke out of Exodus 32:7-14 and Exodus 33:12-16, which describes a heartfelt and honest conversation Moses had with God. Moses even argued with God a bit, and talked Him out of destroying a nation He had rescued from the Egyptians and a life of slavery because they were so ungrateful, wayward, and stiff-necked.

But the kick-in-the-pants verse for me was out of Matthew 15:8-9, "These people honor Me with their lips, but their hearts are far from Me. They worship Me in vain; their teachings are but rules taught by men."

Ouch.

How easily distracted I am away from God's heart. I tend, sometimes, to focus on what I think is expected of me from others as a Follower of Christ, rather than what the Bible clearly teaches me, in the Old Testament and New, but also in the example Jesus set for me..."Follow Me," he said. Not others, not the way they think and the rules they make.

Sometimes I think that the reason God became man in the form of Jesus was because He understood that life is confusing, people are confusing, people are sheep needing to be herded and led, and in His compassion, He came to say, "Okay, my beloved children. THIS is what I want you to do, THIS is how I want you to love me, THIS is how much I love you," in the form of Jesus. His Way, His example to live and be, is clear in the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.

Why do I forget that? Darkness descends and fights with the flickering light in my spirit.

Pastor Tom asked two questions, both of which I pondered all of yesterday, and still into today: "What is hardest for you in your life to trust God in?" and "At the end of your life, looking back over the years, what would you change in your walk with God?"

Wow. That brings me to the nitty gritty. I struggle with trust...in general. My whole life has been a struggle with trusting people, and I guess that brings me to trusting God. What would I change? To trust more, and to be less stubborn in wanting to hang onto my own "safe" way of doing things, for a start.

As the service ended, we sang another hymn with older and younger voices raised, no electric keyboard, and we prayed. We mingled, we laughed about how there may not be hot water for instant coffee or teabags; but it was a subdued crowd of 30 or so...not because there was no power, but because we recognized something in each of us that we struggle with, and we are all on the same journey.

And then the light came on.

Aha!

So this is why: "...writing itself is a mixed blessing. We, who are addicted, berate ourselves and feel guilty when we don't write, at the same time put it off and hunt for diversions. Why? Because the thing that makes us happiest is also tedious, frustrating, and hard. Writing makes us crazy; not writing even crazier." --Marcia Preston

Such is the stuff of my life.

How do I help a non-writer mate understand that?

It's beyond my scope of capabilities.

I pray.

That's all I can do.

And I write.

Homesick on a rainy day

I wish I could write about happy things,
funny things,
things that make people laugh
and smile
and giggle and
ponder.

But it seems that when I get deep
inside myself
there isn't a lot to laugh about
lately
or giggle over
and ponder with a smile.

Funny thing is,
there are no funny things
that make me laugh
or smile or giggle
that I want to write about
to anyone.

Sad, isn't it?

Maybe it's just a phase I'm working through
A by-product of living
life in a country not mine
whose people are not mine
whose language is not mine,
at all.

History tells me that this phase will end
and my heart will rebound
as it usually does;
With the coming spring
rampant with flowers and birds and sunshine
I will be resurrected.